


To Chase a Feather in the Wind

by OpenPage



Category: 21 Jump Street (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Drug Use, Explicit Language, Fisting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Rape, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-12 23:58:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 33
Words: 77,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2129328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpenPage/pseuds/OpenPage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the TV series 21 Jump Street (S3).  Although not a S3 episode, this story is VERY loosely based on the S1 episode “16 Blown to 35”.  </p><p>A routine case changes Booker’s life and Tom is there to help him through it. However, Tom is harboring a deep secret and he knows that when Dennis finds out, their budding friendship could end before it has even begun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lights, Camera, Action

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own 21 Jump Street or any the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. All characters and events in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
> 
> No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> **This one's for you D. Thank you for all your encouraging words.**
> 
> **OpenPage xx**

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35590684890/in/album-72157683140201352/)

**Lights, Camera, Action**  

Soft laughter resonated through the deep fog that enveloped Dennis Booker’s mind and he struggled to open his eyes.  His body felt heavy and his senses impaired and at first, he thought his mind was lost in a dream, caught somewhere between sleep and consciousness.  However, as his body and mind slowly fought through the sleep paralysis, a stinging pain erupted inside his body.  It was a pain unlike any he had ever experienced before, a burning sensation that throbbed deep inside his rectum.  Fear added to his confusion and he began to panic.  His heart hammered in his chest as he fought against the heaviness in his limbs that kept him trapped in a state of inertia.  Once more, the sound of laughter rippled through the air, but it was louder and clearer than before and for a brief moment, he wondered if he had fallen asleep at work.  He had been working as an undercover officer in the Jump Street program for nearly six months but he still felt like an outsider.  Judy, Harry, Doug and Tom all had a close friendship, a bond that existed outside the realm of their working relationship.  However, as in his last job in Internal Affairs, he was still on the fringe, kept at arm’s length by his peers.  He was a colleague to them, nothing more and he doubted any of them even thought of him outside the walls of their working environment.  Although it hurt, he refused to reveal his feelings.  He was too arrogant to admit that he wanted to be included in their after work rendezvous.  He was tough and he was perfectly okay on his own.

A warm hand touched his thigh and he jumped at the unexpected contact.  His disorientation further clouded his mind and he began to hyperventilate.  Another soft caress jolted his mind into action.  He could feel light fingers stroking his cock and although confused, he knew it was inappropriate, that it was not a lover teasing him to life.  Adrenalin coursed through his body and using all his strength and willpower, he opened his eyes.

Although his vision was blurred, he could just make out the face of a man hovering in front of him.  Screwing his eyes closed again, he forced his addled mind to mentally count to ten before opening them again.  It took several seconds for his eyes to focus but his vision eventually cleared and he stared at the man in bewilderment.  The receding hairline and aquiline nose were vaguely familiar and he searched the recesses of his muddled mind, trying to put a name to the face but he came up blank; he had no idea who the man was.  Licking his parched lips, he struggled to speak.  “Where… am I?”

The unidentified face smiled through thin lips “Let’s not worry about that now,” he purred.  “We need to get you cleaned up and ready for the next take.”

Dennis struggled to comprehend the man’s words.  “Take?” he mumbled.  “I don’t… understand.”  

When he received no explanation, he attempted to sit up but his muscles refused to work and his fear intensified.  “I can’t… I can’t move.”

The man’s smile broadened and reaching out a hand, he stroked Dennis’ cheek.  “You don’t need to move, you just have to lie there and look beautiful and when I’m finished, you’ll be a star.”

The man’s face disappeared from view and moments later, strong hands forced his legs open and warm water splashed over the lower half of his body.  It was then that he realized he was naked and his mind screamed in terror but his muscles remained sluggish and he was unable to pull away.  Rough hands scrubbed at his thighs, anus and cock before toweling him dry.  “No…” he protested through numb lips, “stop… please… I don’t… please…”

The unidentified man ignored his protestations and standing up he bent over and hauled him to his feet.  Unable to stand on his own, he slouched against his abuser, his terror mounting with every moment that passed.  Another man stepped forward and together they half dragged, half carried him to a large bed surrounded by cameras and spotlights.  Once on the bed, he noticed other people standing in the room and his dark eyes begged them to help him as the two men bound his wrists to the bedposts.  Dozens of curious eyes stared at him but no one answered his silent plea and at that moment, he knew he was about to be raped.

He tried to scream but the sound was more of a whimper.  Someone laughed and tears leaked from his eyes and trickled down his face.  “Help… me,” he slurred.  “Why… won’t… you… help… me?”

The man with the familiar face stepped forward, his attitude now business like.  “Okay people, let’s get this show started.  Where’s Conan?”

A tall muscular man dressed in a robe came into Dennis’ view and his heart pounded against his rib cage.  He watched in horror as Conan disrobed, revealing a huge cock that was erect and ready for action.  “Oh God,” he sobbed, “oh God!”

Conan climbed onto the bed and knelt in front of Dennis, his expression impassive.  Someone handed him a tube of lubrication but he waved it away impatiently.  “I’m already slick,” he growled in a deep voice.

The heat of the spotlights warmed Dennis’ cold, naked body and sweat prickled on his top lip.  He held his breath, unable to move, unable to protest beyond a mumbled whisper.  He lay trapped inside a paralyzed body, about to be raped and there was nothing he could do.

An eerie quiet settled over the room and all he could hear was blood pounding in his ears.  Seconds ticked by and then a loud voice shouted, “Action!”

Conan grasped hold of his legs and bending them at the knees, he pushed them open.  Once in position, he could not move and his eyes widened in terror as the hulking man moved forward and pressed his enormous cock against his anus.  

“Ready for some lovin’ sweetheart?” Conan purred.

Hot pain ripped through Dennis’ insides as the huge cock pushed through his tight muscles, tearing him internally.  He tried to scream but the only noise that escaped his lips was a gurgle.  Conan’s hips thrust forward, forcing the cock deeper inside his body and his eyes bulged with fear and pain.  He was being raped in front of a room full of people and he was powerless to stop it.

“Fuck yeah,” Conan groaned and supporting himself on one arm, he rocked his hips forwards and backwards, whilst his free hand caressed the length of Dennis’ cock.  “Do you like that beautiful?  Are you getting hard?”

When he realized he was becoming aroused, Dennis’ face burned red with embarrassment.  Closing his eyes, he willed his body not to feel, not to react to the stimulation but he had no control over his drugged body and mind.   Fresh tears trickled down his cheeks and he stared with wide, terrified eyes at the looming face of the man assaulting him.  “Nooo… nooo… nooo,” he moaned.  “Stop… please stop.”  

Conan grinned down at him.  “Aww baby,” he teased, as he slammed his cock in and out of Dennis’ bleeding anus, “don’t you wanna come for Daddy?”

Dennis screwed his eyes closed and tried to block out the pain and humiliation of the rape.  Minutes seemed like hours and he prayed to a God he did not believe in for it to be over.  He felt Conan’s pace increase as long fingers tugged at his weeping cock and he knew he could not fight it any longer.  His body was going to betray him and he was going to climax.  Moments later, he let out a strangled cry and semen covered his stomach.  

“THAT’S MY BOY!” Conan yelled as he continued to slam his cock in and out of Dennis’ limp body.  “I knew you liked it!  Fuck!  You are so tight!  C’mon, look at me… look at me with those pretty brown eyes.”

Choking back a sob, Dennis screwed his eyes tightly closed, refusing to give his abuser his wish.  Minutes later, he heard a euphoric cry and warm semen shot deep inside him.  He could feel Conan’s body shuddering against him for another minute before the instrument of his torture was withdrawn and he was alone on the bed, his body bleeding heavily from the assault.

“CUT!”

Clapping resonated around the room, the imaginary velvet drapes were drawn and it was over, he had survived… until the next scene.

**

Dennis dragged his aching body across the room that was his prison and towards the open doorway of the bathroom.  The drugs in his system still prevented him from walking but he had partially regained the use of his arms and his speech was less slurred.  Reaching the tiled floor, he hauled himself over the cold surface and towards the toilet.  He desperately needed to urinate and when he finally reached the lavatory, he grabbed hold of the basin and attempted to pull himself to his feet.  But his arms and legs refused to cooperate and with a cry, he lost control of his bladder and urinated over the floor.  Tears of shame spilled from his bloodshot eyes and burying his face in the crook of his arm, he sobbed uncontrollably.  His violated body throbbed painfully and he wondered if he could endure another assault.  He had suffered through three rapes by three different men, each one more brutal than the last.  He was exhausted, terrified and confused.  His addled mind still refused to work and he had no idea why he was there or how he knew the man with the aquiline nose.  All he knew for certain was that he was in serious danger and he needed to escape.

Using the wall for support, he pulled himself into a sitting position and stared down at his naked body.  No one had washed him after the final rape and dried blood and semen still coated his thighs.   When the stench of the fluids assaulted his nostrils, his stomach lurched and turning his head, he vomited onto the black and white mosaic floor.  As he sat hunched over, spitting out watery bile from between his lips, a forgotten memory flashed into his mind… _standing in front of a stage as young models paraded the latest fashions… the sound of applause… the man with the aquiline nose speaking into a microphone, urging the gaggle of interested teens to sign up to the Teen Scene School of Modeling…_ and with a rush of clarity, his memories returned.  

He had been undercover investigating a modeling school following allegations that it was a front for a pornography company that exploited minors.  It had been easy for him to get a foot in the door, a supposed scout had spotted him in the crowd and asked him to audition.  He now remembered that the man with the aquiline nose was Mike Ferris, the owner of Teen Scene School of Modeling and he had invited him back to his studio so he could take some photographs.  After that, his memory became fuzzy.  He could recall posing for the photos and mentally taking note of the other people who flittered in and out of the room but nothing more.

 _BAM!_   The memory hit him like a lightning rod; Ferris had offered him a drink, a can of cola and after consuming several mouthfuls, the room had begun to spin and he had collapsed unconscious to the floor.  His next memory had been waking up, still paralyzed from the drug and his body already bloody and sore from the first rape.

Once again, hot tears burned his eyes.  He had let his guard down and now he was trapped, held hostage against his will and forced to make pornographic movies.  His arrogant, cocky nature had prevented him from phoning through to his Captain first and advising him of his progress.  No one knew where he was; he was alone and vulnerable, caught in a web of debauchery fueled by the sexual needs of the faceless men who illicitly bought _rape tapes_ cleverly disguised in brown paper wrappers that hid beneath the counters of adult movie stores.  

He was a nothing more than a commodity, a piece of meat to be used and abused.  In time, his face would be known throughout the adult movie world and his image would grace the screens of the perverts who got off on someone else’s pain.  

He would, in the words of Mike Ferris, be a _star_.  



	2. The Nightmare Continues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Previously: Dennis dragged his aching body across the room that was his prison and towards the open doorway of the bathroom. The drugs in his system still prevented him from walking but he had partially regained the use of his arms and his speech was less slurred. Reaching the tiled floor, he hauled himself over the cold surface and towards the toilet. He desperately needed to urinate and when he finally reached the lavatory, he grabbed hold of the basin and attempted to pull himself to his feet. But his arms and legs refused to cooperate and with a cry, he lost control of his bladder and urinated over the floor. Tears of shame spilled from his bloodshot eyes and burying his face in the crook of his arm, he sobbed uncontrollably. His violated body throbbed painfully and he wondered if he could endure another assault. He had suffered through three rapes by three different men, each one more brutal than the last. He was exhausted, terrified and confused. His addled mind still refused to work and he had no idea why he was there or how he knew the man with the aquiline nose. All he knew for certain was that he was in serious danger and he needed to escape._
> 
> _Using the wall for support, he pulled himself into a sitting position and stared down at his naked body. No one had washed him after the final rape and dried blood and semen still coated his thighs. When the stench of the fluids assaulted his nostrils, his stomach lurched and turning his head, he vomited onto the black and white mosaic floor. As he sat hunched over, spitting out watery bile from between his lips, a forgotten memory flashed into his mind… standing in front of a stage as young models paraded the latest fashions… the sound of applause… the man with the aquiline nose speaking into a microphone, urging the gaggle of interested teens to sign up to the Teen Scene School of Modeling… and with a rush of clarity, his memories returned._
> 
> _He had been undercover investigating a modeling school following allegations that it was a front for a pornography company that exploited minors. It had been easy for him to get a foot in the door, a supposed scout had spotted him in the crowd and asked him to audition. He now remembered that the man with the aquiline nose was Mike Ferris, the owner of Teen Scene School of Modeling and he had invited him back to his studio so he could take some photographs. After that, his memory became fuzzy. He could recall posing for the photos and mentally taking note of the other people who flittered in and out of the room but nothing more._
> 
> _BAM! The memory hit him like a lightning rod; Ferris had offered him a drink, a can of cola and after consuming several mouthfuls, the room had begun to spin and he had collapsed unconscious to the floor. His next memory had been waking up, still paralyzed from the drug and his body already bloody and sore from the first rape._
> 
> _Once again, hot tears burned his eyes. He had let his guard down and now he was trapped, held hostage against his will and forced to make pornographic movies. His arrogant, cocky nature had prevented him from phoning through to his Captain first and advising him of his progress. No one knew where he was; he was alone and vulnerable, caught in a web of debauchery fueled by the sexual needs of the faceless men who illicitly bought rape tapes cleverly disguised in brown paper wrappers that hid beneath the counters of adult movie stores._
> 
> _He was a nothing more than a commodity, a piece of meat to be used and abused. In time, his face would be known throughout the adult movie world and his image would grace the screens of the perverts who got off on someone else’s pain._
> 
> _He would, in the words of Mike Ferris, be a star._

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35590684780/in/album-72157683140201352/)

**The Nightmare Continues**

_The following morning_

Captain Adam Fuller gave each of his young charges a hard glare.  He had returned from a week’s vacation to find one of his officers missing.  “So no one has seen or heard from Booker since Monday morning?” he asked in a strained voice.

Doug ran a nervous hand through his hair.  “That’s right Coach, Captain McCormick assigned Booker the case and he went to the mall to check it out.”

Tom stepped forward.  “He’s only a few hours late Cap’n and you know what he’s like, he’s not exactly a stickler for the rules.  I'm sure he's okay.”

Fuller’s eyes clouded over and turning his head, he glanced at the clock.  “I hope you’re right Hanson,” he murmured quietly.  “I hope you’re right.”

**

Having managed to crawl from the bathroom back into the empty room, Dennis curled into a ball and wrapped his arms around his shaking body. He was cold, suffering from shock and his mind was still addled from the drugs. He knew he needed to try to clear his mind and work out a plan of escape but he was exhausted and in pain and all he wanted to do was close his eyes and never wake up. Even though he did not remember the first rape, his life had changed the moment the first man had slammed his cock into his body and he knew it had been the catalyst. Never again would he be the same person he had been twenty-four hours before. What was left of his innocence had been completely shattered, his soul destroyed and his physical being desecrated. The rapes had damaged him, both mentally and physically and the scars would remain forever.

The sound of a key turning in a lock jerked him from his thoughts and struggling to a sitting position, he stared at the door in terror.  Moments later, Mike Ferris walked in, his thin lips pulled into a sinister grin and Dennis’ badge held out in front of him.  “Well, well _Officer_ Booker, so you’re an undercover cop posing as a teenager.  Isn’t that interesting?”

Dennis ran his tongue over his dry lips.  “You need… to let… me go,” he rasped and leaning his head back against the wall, he struggled to keep his eyes focused.  “My people will… be here… very… soon… and when they… arrive—”

Ferris threw back his head and laughed.  “Oh Officer Booker, you do amuse me,” he chuckled.  “Did you honestly think we’d bring you to a location that was in anyway affiliated with the Teen Scene School?  This isn’t my first time, I’m not a _novice_.  I’ve been in the industry for years and I know what my clientele like.  They want to see beautiful teenage boys tied to a bed and raped.  I admit, discovering that you were a cop was a bit of a shock but it makes no difference, you still _look_ like a teenage boy and no one will know the difference.  And as for your fellow officers, I’ve always liked a challenge.  You’ve been missing for twenty-four hours, let’s see how long it takes them to find you.”

“Fuck… you,” Dennis spat, his voice tinged with venom.  “You’re… going to… prison… for a very—”

Ferris demeanor changed abruptly.  “Boring!” he cried out, his eyes dancing manically and it was at that moment Booker knew he was not just a depraved pervert; he was also a little bit crazy.  “You need to get cleaned up my dear Dennis, it’s almost time for your next scene.”

Dennis’ face visibly paled and his terrified eyes frantically searched the empty room, looking for a means of escape.  Seconds later, two men entered, one carrying a syringe and the other several fluffy towels and a bar of soap.   

“No!” he sobbed and drawing his knees up to his chest, he shook his head violently from side to side.  “I can’t!  Oh God… I _can’t!”_

“Oh you can,” Ferris replied softly.  “You can and you will.”  Turning his head towards his two lackeys, he once again became business like.  “Get him in the shower and clean him up.  If he won’t cooperate, use the hose.”

As the two men approached, Dennis scrambled away but there was nowhere to hide and even though he fought against his attackers, he was still too stoned for his feeble efforts to have any effect.  He felt a sharp prick in his upper arm and moments later, he lost control of his body and fell limply to the floor.  The taller of the two men walked over and squatted down next to him.  “You really are very pretty,” he murmured and reaching out, he stroked Dennis’ cock.  “Are you going to be a good boy and take a shower with me?”

As the drug coursed through his veins, Dennis found it almost impossible to speak.  “Help… me,” he slurred.

The man laughed.  “Oh I’ll help you,” he grinned.  “I’m going to scrub you nice and clean.”  Looking up at his partner, he nodded towards Dennis’ legs.  “Help me get him into the shower.”

The men carried Booker into the bathroom and laid him on the floor.  He tried to crawl away, but the attempt was so pathetic, the two men roared with laughter.  “Check him out Ben,” the shorter man chortled, “he still thinks he can escape.”

Ben’s gaze focused on the puddle of vomit and urine. “The filthy whore pissed and puked on the floor,” he muttered in disgust. “We should rub his nose in it like a dog.” When his friend did not answer, he looked away, turned on the shower faucets and adjusted the temperature. Steam quickly filled the small bathroom and stripping off his clothes, he stepped under the warm water. “Get him to his feet, he should be able to stand with some help.”

Strong hands gripped Dennis under his armpits and hauled him to his feet.  He swayed drunkenly as the man maneuvered him into the shower cubicle.  An arm circled his waist and he gasped as warm water cascaded over his body.  Moments later, a soapy hand rubbed over his groin and gently tugged at his cock.  “Is that nice?” Ben crooned as his fingers trailed over Dennis’ long shaft.  

Water streamed over Dennis’ face, making it difficult for him to breathe.  When Ben’s fingers rubbed over his anus, he struggled to break free.  “No,” he mumbled weakly.  “Don’t.”

Ben ignored his protests and after soaping over the area, he roughly inserted his finger.  “Do you like that pretty boy?” he taunted whilst moving his finger in and out.  “Does it make you horny?”

Laughter echoed around the bathroom.  “Why don’t you fuck him Ben?” the short man suggested, his voice dripping with excitement.  “Mike’ll never know.”

Nuzzling against Dennis’ ear, Ben sucked on the earlobe.  “Would you like that pretty boy?  Do you want me to stick my cock up your ass?”

Dennis’ body started to shake uncontrollably and his head shook violently from side to side, whipping his wet hair across his face.  “No… no… no… no… no,” he moaned.

“I think he said yes, don’t you John?” Ben snorted.

John’s eyes glistened with arousal.  “That’s what I heard,” he smirked and licking his lips, he unzipped his jeans and fondled himself through his boxers.  “Go on, do it.”

Ben shuffled Dennis’ body so that he was facing the tiled wall and using his foot, he kicked his legs apart.  The feel of Dennis’ body beneath his fingers had aroused him and he was almost fully erect.  Keeping one arm wrapped around his captive’s waist, he took hold of his own cock and fondled it gently.  A minute passed and with a low groan, he guided it until the tip pressed against Dennis’ puckered hole.  “Ready beautiful?” he asked and without waiting for an answer, he pushed his erection inside.

A loud moan escaped Dennis lips and his legs started to give way.  Ben pushed his ample weight against him and pressing him flat to the wall, he rocked his hips forward.  “Fuck, you’re one tight little bitch,” he groaned.  “No wonder Conan’s got a yen for you.”  Reaching around, his fingers found Dennis’ cock and he rubbed his thumb over the smooth head.  “Mmm, you’re a big boy.  Let’s see if I can make you come.”

Although his drugged mind was resisting, Dennis' body was unable to fight against the assault.  He stood with his cheek flattened against the tiles and his mouth pulled into a silent, grotesque scream as Ben pumped his cock in and out of his abused body.  When he felt his own cock hardening from the stimulation, tears leaked from his eyes and mixed with the tiny droplets of condensation that speckled the tiles.

Ben’s soft grunts echoed throughout the bathroom, interspersed with John’s excited commentary.  “Harder, fuck him harder.  Oh yeah… oh yeah.  Fuck that bitch.”

The assault lasted ten minutes.  John came first, yelling out expletives as he coated his fingers in his own juices.  Dennis body finally succumbed and with a strangled sob, he ejaculated over the tiled wall.  Ben took longer, his grunts eventually becoming louder and with one final thrust, he shot his semen deep inside Booker’s body.  

Heavy breathing rent the room and tucking himself away, John let out a sigh.  “You shouldn’t have let him come, what if he can’t perform?  Conan’ll be pissed.”

Ben withdrew his cock and picking up the bar of soap, he lathered Dennis’ body.  “He’ll come, I’ll just give him a hit of coke and that’ll get his motor running.”

Dennis barely heard the conversation.  Blood pounded in his ears and his head was spinning, making him feel nauseous.  He wished the drug would render him unconscious because then and only then, would he be free from the nightmare.

**

Tom sat at his desk, nervously tapping his pen against the hard wooden surface.  He did not want to let on to the other officers, but he was worried about Booker.  Not that any of them would have believed it.  Since Dennis had joined the Jump Street program, they had done nothing but bicker and get on each other’s nerves.  But for Tom, it was mostly a ruse, a way to disguise what he really felt… that he was completely and utterly infatuated with the dark haired officer.

Since the age of twelve, he had known that he was attracted to both girls _and_ boys.  At that age, he had never heard the term bisexual and he had suffered with terrible guilt and confusion, certain that he was the only person on earth who had conflicting feelings.  Then, as he matured, he realized he was not alone and that many others felt exactly the same way.  However, the knowledge did not make his life any easier.  He quickly learned that although there were others like him, it was not accepted behavior and that bisexuals were treated just as abhorrently as homosexuals, especially within the deeply religious community he was brought up in.  So therefore, he suppressed his feelings and struggled through life doing what society deemed as _right_.  

But when he joined the force and moved out of home, he found himself seeking out the company of men and he quickly realized that although he loved women, he was more sexually attracted to his own sex.  He hated lying to his friends and especially to Doug.  But heterosexual men were often the most homophobic and he feared Doug’s reaction if he came clean and revealed his sexuality.

Therefore, he kept his feelings to himself.  He dated woman openly and men secretly but he hoped one day, he would be able to reveal his feelings without fear of judgment or ridicule.  Because then and only then, would he be living his life as the _real_ Tom Hanson, free of guilt and free to love whomever he pleased.  



	3. Where's the Cavalry?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Previously: Tom sat at his desk, nervously tapping his pen against the hard wooden surface. He did not want to let on to the other officers, but he was worried about Booker. Not that any of them would have believed it. Since Dennis had joined the Jump Street program, they had done nothing but bicker and get on each other’s nerves. But for Tom, it was mostly a ruse, a way to disguise what he really felt… that he was completely and utterly infatuated with the dark haired officer._
> 
> _Since the age of twelve, he had known that he was attracted to both girls and boys. At that age, he had never heard the term bisexual and he had suffered with terrible guilt and confusion, certain that he was the only person on earth who had conflicting feelings. Then, as he matured, he realized he was not alone and that many others felt exactly the same way. However, the knowledge did not make his life any easier. He quickly learned that although there were others like him, it was not accepted behavior and that bisexuals were treated just as abhorrently as homosexuals, especially within the deeply religious community he was brought up in. So therefore, he suppressed his feelings and struggled through life doing what society deemed as right._
> 
> _But when he joined the force and moved out of home, he found himself seeking out the company of men and he quickly realized that although he loved women, he was more sexually attracted to his own sex. He hated lying to his friends and especially to Doug. But heterosexual men were often the most homophobic and he feared Doug’s reaction if he came clean and revealed his sexuality._
> 
> _Therefore, he kept his feelings to himself. He dated woman openly and men secretly but he hoped one day, he would be able to reveal his feelings without fear of judgment or ridicule. Because then and only then, would he be living his life as the real Tom Hanson, free of guilt and free to love whomever he pleased._

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35590684670/in/album-72157683140201352/)

**Where's the Cavalry?**

_Thirty-six hours later_

A gentle hand caressing his cheek woke Dennis from a light sleep and he immediately shrank away from the touch.  “No more,” he muttered through cracked lips.  “Please, no more.”

Conan smiled wickedly and trailed a finger down Dennis’ naked thigh.  “Aww, c’mon beautiful, don’t you wanna play?”

Dennis dragged himself into the corner of the room and pulling his legs up to his chest, he wrapped his arms around his knees and hugged himself protectively.  “No,” he whispered.  “Please, just leave me alone.”

Sighing in annoyance, Conan walked over to where Dennis cowered on the floor and squatting down next to him, he ran a light finger down his cheek.  “I don’t _want_ to leave you alone,” he taunted in a low voice.  “I own you now.  You’re my bitch.”

Staring up with wild eyes, Dennis’ voice began to shake.  “ _Own_ me?”

“That’s right pretty boy,” Conan whispered menacingly.  “Mike’s got no need for you anymore, the movie’s finished and you’re too much of a risk to keep around.  So I paid him to take you off his hands and now, you’re mine.”

Dennis’ dark eyes grew wide with shock.  “W-What?”

Sitting down on the ground, Conan draped a companionable arm around Dennis’ shoulders.  “It’s pretty simple, I bought you and now your ass belongs to me.”

Closing his eyes, Dennis shook his head from side to side in an attempt to banish Conan’s words from his brain.  “No, no, no, no, nooo!”

“Oh yes, yes, yes,” Conan murmured and leaning forward, he trailed his tongue up the side of Dennis’ face.  “You and me are gonna have so much fun.”

Dennis knew he had to try to escape and dropping to his hands, he attempted to crawl away from his abuser.  But he was sluggish from the cocktail of drugs that still circulated through his system and he had barely moved a few inches when a meaty hand grasped the back of his neck.  “Going somewhere?” Conan growled.

Moments later, he heard the terrifying sound of a zipper pulling down and he froze in fear.  He knew what was coming but he was powerless to stop it and when Conan pressed his enormous cock against him, he screwed his eyes closed and waited for the pain.

The sight of Dennis’ bare ass trembling in front of him was enough to make Conan hard and with a moan of pleasure, he rammed his cock into his victim’s unprepared entrance.  

The huge cock ripped through Dennis’ already damaged muscles and he screamed in pain.  “DON’T!  OH GOD!  STOP!  PLEASE STOP!”

Blood seeped through Dennis’ channel and coated Conan’s thick shaft.   At the sight, the large man groaned with pleasure and rocking his hips forwards and backwards, he steadily increased his pace until he was slamming his cock in and out of his victim’s tight, bleeding anus.  With each thrust, he penetrated deeper inside Dennis’ abused body and grinning with excitement, he let go of his neck and grabbing a handful of his dark hair, he yanked his head backwards.  “YEE- _HAW!”_ he yelled and using his free hand, he slapped Dennis on the ass as he continued to slam his cock in and out.  “Giddy up horsey!  Giddy up!”

Tears streamed down Dennis’ face and the muscles in his neck bulged from the tension of having his head pulled backwards.  His huge, wild eyes stared up at the ceiling and his mind started to shut down.  Instead of nicotine stained paintwork, he saw blue sky and fluffy cumulus clouds dispersed across the imaginary cobalt canvas.  The shriek of his rapist’s voice transformed into the eerie call of the California Gull and even though he knew he was losing his grip on reality, he did not care.  Escapism was a way of coping with the abuse, a way to disassociate himself from the pain and degradation.  It was a way to hold onto his sanity.

The gull’s shrieking cry became steadily louder and the clouds sped crazily across the imaginary sky, the white translucent vapor blurring in front of him.  He became lost in the vision, immersed in the sound; he could smell the saltiness of the sea in his nostrils… 

Then it was over.

Collapsing to the floor, he returned to reality with a jolt.  Conan was still inside him, shuddering out his release and he stifled a sob.  He had managed to block out the brutality of the rape but only for a moment and no matter where his mind went, the truth would never be far away.  He was Conan’s toy and until someone found him, he would continue to be raped and abused over and over by a sexual sadist.

**

Penhall wound his way through the crowded bar, expertly carrying a pitcher of beer in one hand and in the other, two empty glasses with a basket of salted nuts balanced on top.   Settling them down carefully on the table, he sat down opposite Tom and filled their glasses before raising his in salute.  “Bottoms up.”

Tom lifted his head.  “Huh?” he asked distractedly.

Letting out a sigh, Doug pointed to the full glass.  “I said, _bottoms up_.”

Lifting up his beer, Tom’s eyes wandered around the room.  “Yeah, cheers,” he mumbled in a faraway voice.

Doug took a large swig of his drink and studied his friend’s face.  He had brought him to the bar after work to help take his mind off Booker.  It had surprised him how hard Tom was taking the news of Dennis’ disappearance; they had never been close and although they were all worried about their colleague, Tom’s concern was on another level.  He was moody, distracted and full of nervous energy.  He spent his days pacing back and forth across the floor of the Chapel or in Fuller’s office, pushing for information.  But there _was_ no information.  Mike Ferris had eventually been located and interviewed and his studio searched but there was no sign of Dennis.  Ferris remained friendly during the interview but he was adamant, he had never laid eyes on the young officer and if he had been at the mall during the recruitment drive, he had not seen him.

Fuller put a tail on Ferris but the process had taken time to organize and it had not started until that morning.  So far, they had come up blank.  Ferris spent most of his day at the studio and there was no suspicious activity to report.  If Ferris did have anything to do with Booker’s disappearance, he had covered his tracks well.  It was then that Fuller knew he needed to ramp up the investigation and so somewhat reluctantly, he notified the media.  Within hours, the news stations were beaming Dennis’ photo into millions of homes across the country along with footage of the Police Commissioner offering a hundred thousand dollar reward for information that led to the safe recovery of the young officer.  

It was something, but for Tom, it was not enough.  Dennis was still missing and he knew from experience that the longer a case dragged on, a successful conclusion became less and less likely.

Sighing heavily, Doug reached out and laid his hand over Tom’s long fingers.  “We’ll find him,” he murmured.

Tom turned his head and gazed back at his friend with sad eyes.  “And if we don’t?” he asked quietly.  “He’s out there somewhere Doug and we’re pretty sure Ferris’ modeling school is a front for something more sinister.  God only knows what they’re doing to him.  He could be…”  His voice trailed off and he lowered his eyes.  “What if he’s dead?”

A shiver ran down Penhall’s spine.  The thought that Dennis might have died had never entered his mind but it was certainly a possibility.  Snuff films were a reality and if Ferris really did make underage pornographic movies, there was a chance he delved into the more depraved side of filmmaking.  The thought was horrifying and picking up his beer, he gulped it down and poured himself another.  He suddenly felt the urge to get mind-numbingly drunk and to hell with the hangover in the morning.

A long silence hung between the two officers and Doug’s nerves started to jangle.  Draining his glass, he slammed it down on the table and stood up.  “Fuck this,” he muttered.  “I need a whiskey.”

Tom watched him disappear into the crowd and picking up his drink, he sipped at the cool amber liquid.  Unlike Doug, he did not feel the need to obliterate the thoughts that consumed his mind.  He wanted to stay focused and in control so that when the call came, he could be there to help Dennis because since his disappearance, he could no longer deny his feelings; he was not infatuated with the dark haired officer, he was hopelessly in love with him.

A loud commotion at the bar pulled him back to the present and looking over, he saw Doug wrestling a short, stocky man’s arm behind his back.  Jumping to his feet, he ran through the throng of people who had swarmed around the two men and pulled out his badge.  “Police!” he yelled.  “Get out of the way!”

Caught up in the excitement, the mob jostled together, all vying for a better vantage point.  Tom eventually pushed his way through and rushing forward, he helped Doug tackle the man to the ground.  “What the hell’s going on?” he gasped.

Doug yanked the man’s arms upwards, eliciting a yell of pain from his captive.  “I overhead him talking,” he puffed and pulling out his handcuffs, he snapped the manacles around the struggling man’s wrists.  “He said he knew where Dennis was being held!”

Tom grabbed hold of the man and hauled the man to his feet.  “You’d better start talking,” he growled into his frightened face, “and you’d better do it quick.”

**

An hour passed before Dennis felt capable of standing and hauling himself to his feet, he walked drunkenly across the barren room and into the bathroom.  Leaning heavily against the chipped porcelain hand basin, he gazed with unfocused eyes into the cracked mirror.  Two bloodshot eyes stared back at him, the dilated pupils making his irises appear black.  His dark hair hung in sweaty strands around his ash-colored face, giving him a ghostly appearance and he looked much older than his twenty-three years.  The sight was so shocking that fresh tears filled his eyes and he choked back a sob.  He felt dehumanized, a shadow of his former self and he wondered how much longer he could cope with the abuse before he lost his mind completely.

Turning on the faucet, he gulped down several mouthfuls of water.  His throat was sore from screaming and the cool fluid helped to soothe the pain.  Moving over to the toilet, he relieved his bladder, his eyes purposely avoiding his blood stained thighs.  After flushing the chain, he staggered over to the shower cubicle and pulled back the curtain.  He sighed with relief when he saw a bar of soap sitting in the ceramic dish; at least he could rid himself of the foul stench of his rapist and cleanse his battered body.

Swaying heavily on his feet, he stepped into the shower and turning on the hot faucet, he added a small amount of cold water to the mix.  The temperature in the bathroom rose and steam filled the air.  Lowering his head, he braced his palms against the black and white tiled wall and let the scalding water beat against his tired, abused body.  The stinging heat against his skin momentarily masked the pain inside his anus and closing his eyes, he concentrated on the steady thrumming of the water.  Ten minutes passed before he picked up the soap and methodically washed his body.  Turning his back to the shower head, he leaned forward and let the blistering heat beat over his aching backside as he scrubbed frantically at his anus in the desperate hope that he could cleanse himself of the semen that had violated his body.  He ignored the searing pain; all he wanted was to rid himself of the fluids that had infected him.  Another twenty minutes passed before he turned off the faucets and stepped dripping from the shower and out into the steamy bathroom.  The rail was devoid of towels but he found a washcloth in the cupboard under the hand basin and he dabbed himself dry as best he could.

Exhausted from the effort, he stumbled back into the empty room and lowering himself to the floor, he curled into a protective ball and fell asleep.  



	4. Captor My Captor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Previously: An hour passed before Dennis felt capable of standing and hauling himself to his feet, he walked drunkenly across the barren room and into the bathroom. Leaning heavily against the chipped porcelain hand basin, he gazed with unfocused eyes into the cracked mirror. Two bloodshot eyes stared back at him, the dilated pupils making his irises appear black. His dark hair hung in sweaty strands around his ash-colored face, giving him a ghostly appearance and he looked much older than his twenty-three years. The sight was so shocking that fresh tears filled his eyes and he choked back a sob. He felt dehumanized, a shadow of his former self and he wondered how much longer he could cope with the abuse before he lost his mind completely._
> 
> _Turning on the faucet, he gulped down several mouthfuls of water. His throat was sore from screaming and the cool fluid helped to soothe the pain. Moving over to the toilet, he relieved his bladder, his eyes purposely avoiding his blood stained thighs. After flushing the chain, he staggered over to the shower cubicle and pulled back the curtain. He sighed with relief when he saw a bar of soap sitting in the ceramic dish; at least he could rid himself of the foul stench of his rapist and cleanse his battered body._
> 
> _Swaying heavily on his feet, he stepped into the shower and turning on the hot faucet, he added a small amount of cold water to the mix. The temperature in the bathroom rose and steam filled the air. Lowering his head, he braced his palms against the black and white tiled wall and let the scalding water beat against his tired, abused body. The stinging heat against his skin momentarily masked the pain inside his anus and closing his eyes, he concentrated on the steady thrumming of the water. Ten minutes passed before he picked up the soap and methodically washed his body. Turning his back to the shower head, he leaned forward and let the blistering heat beat over his aching backside as he scrubbed frantically at his anus in the desperate hope that he could cleanse himself of the semen that had violated his body. He ignored the searing pain; all he wanted was to rid himself of the fluids that had infected him. Another twenty minutes passed before he turned off the faucets and stepped dripping from the shower and out into the steamy bathroom. The rail was devoid of towels but he found a washcloth in the cupboard under the hand basin and he dabbed himself dry as best he could._
> 
> _Exhausted from the effort, he stumbled back into the empty room and lowering himself to the floor, he curled into a protective ball and fell asleep._   
> 

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35590684580/in/album-72157683140201352/)

**Captor My Captor**  

John Steiner glared sullenly at Tom and Doug.  “I _told_ you, I was just shootin’ my mouth off.  I don’t know nothin’ about that cop’s disappearance.”

Tom stepped forward and placing his palms flat on the table, he leaned forward so that he was just inches from the defiant man’s face.  “I’m rapidly losing patience,” he murmured in a threatening tone.  “You have thirty seconds to tell me what you know or I’m going to throw your ass in jail.”

Steiner tilted his chair back and folding his arms across his chest, he sneered back arrogantly.  “For what?  Spouting a load of bullshit in a bar?”

Penhall moved forward and towered over the man.  “Oh we can think up a hundred bogus charges,” he informed him in a pseudo pleasant voice.  “Drugs, assault, suspicion of kidnapping, underage pornography, rape…”

“Whoa!” Steiner interrupted and his chair crashed back down onto four legs.  “I ain’t no fag!  I never touched that…”  His eyes grew wide and his face visibly paled when it slowly dawned on him that Penhall had tricked him.

“Never touched _who_ ,” Tom asked through clenched teeth.  When Steiner remained stubbornly silent, Tom finally lost his temper.  Shoving the table violently forward, it slammed against Steiner’s stomach and pinned him against the wall.  Penhall turned away and studied his cuticles, signaling to Hanson that if he wanted to beat the crap out of their suspect, he had complete freedom to do so and it would remain their little secret.

Steiner attempted to push the table away but Tom kept his weight against it, trapping him in his chair.  “One… last… time,” he enunciated slowly.  “Where… is he?”

Sweat trickled down Steiner’s blotchy face and into his squinty eyes but his arms remained trapped by the table and he was unable to wipe it away.  “I ain’t saying no more,” he mumbled defiantly.  “I want a lawyer.”

**

Conan unlocked the door and pushing it open, he carried in the tray of food he had prepared.  It had been five days since Dennis had eaten and he was not about to risk his new toy dying of starvation.  He had paid good money for his plaything and he wanted to enjoy him for many years to come.

Kicking the door closed with a bang, he smiled when he saw Dennis’ body jump at the sound.  As he strode across the room, his captive scurried over to the far corner and pulled his knees protectively to his chest.  “Aww c’mon beautiful, where’s my welcome?” Conan laughed.  “Don’t you wanna give Daddy a kiss?”

Booker’s body started to tremble and he buried his face in his arms.  His mind was regressing, due partly to the drugs and partly to the abuse and a childlike logic was slowly taking over.  If he could not see, then he could not _be_ seen.  He was invisible and therefore, he was safe.

A warm hand touched his shoulder and he jumped in fright.  Lifting his head, he stared at his abuser with frightened eyes.  But when a gentle hand stroked at his hair, he let out a soft moan of pleasure.  It seemed like years since he had felt the tender touch of another human being and he reveled in the contact.   He had suffered only violence and abuse for nearly a week and he wanted to be comforted, even if it was by his rapist.

Conan gazed down at the dark head officer with an amused smile.  “Do you like that baby doll?” he crooned softly as Dennis nudged against his hand, urging him on.  “Do you wanna make Daddy happy?”

Dennis stared up with wide, confused eyes.  More than anything, he wanted the tender caress to continue.  He was exhausted, his body throbbed painfully and he craved affection… he wanted to feel loved.

Closing his eyes, he nodded his head.  He would agree to anything if the gentle hand continued to comfort him.  

“That’s my boy,” Conan murmured and pulling down his zipper, he let his jeans fall around his ankles.  Reaching into his boxers, he pulled out his cock and trailed his fingers up and down the long shaft.  “And when we’re done, you can have something to eat, okay beautiful?”

The thought of food made Dennis’ stomach rumble and he did not resist when two gentle hands guided his head upwards.  He could see Conan’s huge erection in front of his face and he was terrified but he knew what he had to do and if he did it well, he would be rewarded.  Anything was better than the brutal rapes, even sucking cock.

Conan continued to caress Dennis’ hair with a gentle hand.  “C’mon beautiful,” he whispered, his voice dripping with arousal.  “Wrap that pretty mouth around me.”

Taking a deep breath, Dennis leaned forward and placed his lips around the bulbous head of Conan’s cock.  The large man gasped in pleasure and pushing his hips forward, he forced his cock deeper into Dennis’ warm, moist mouth.  “Fuck yeah,” he sighed and running his fingers through his captive’s dark hair, he rocked his hips slowly back and forth.  “Suck me brown eyes, suck me.”

Dennis closed his eyes and focused on not gagging.  He could feel tender fingers playing with his hair and he concentrated on the sensation and not on the huge cock fucking his mouth.  Salty precum coated his tongue but he did not react.  He wanted to please his captor, to give the best blowjob possible and then he could fill his cramped stomach with food and maybe feel the gentle touch of loving hands rather than the pain of violence.

Conan’s thrusting became more frenetic and he started to pant, “Oh fuck… oh fuck… oh fuck…”  Moments later, his fingers ripped at Dennis’ hair and with a yell of delight, he climaxed.

Dennis’ first instinct was to pull away but strong hands held him firm and his eyes bulged as he tried not to choke on the warm fluid that flooded his throat.  He had no choice but to swallow and his body shuddered in revulsion but he managed to control his gag reflex and keep the salty semen down.  

Minutes passed and finally Conan removed his softening cock and tucked himself away.  “Not bad for a first time,” he praised and reaching down, he cupped Dennis’ face in his meaty hand.  “Are you hungry?  ‘Cause I bought you some food and then after you’ve had a little nap, I’m gonna move you to your new home.”

A small smile graced Dennis’ cracked lips and when Conan held out a hand, he grasped the thick fingers and hauled himself off the floor.  A strong arm wrapped around his waist and he leaned heavily against his captor as he was helped to walk the few feet to where the tray of food lay on the floor.  Dropping to his knees, he hungrily grabbed at the sandwich and crammed it into his mouth.  He was so engrossed in the food that he did not feel the prick of the needle as it punctured the skin of his upper arm and injected yet more drugs into his system.

**

Tom closed the interrogation room door with a bang and stared at Doug despondently.  “This is fucking hopeless.  He’s lawyered-up and now we’re never going to get the truth out of him.  I should have beaten him to a pulp when I had the chance.”

Placing a reassuring arm around his friend’s shoulders, Doug gave him a squeeze.  “He’s a coward, if he thinks he’s going to do major prison time he’ll cut a deal.  Trust me.”

Exhaling heavily, Tom ran a trembling hand over his mouth.  “I hope you’re right,” he muttered, “because if not, we’ve just wasted three hours for nothing.”

Not wanting to discourage Tom any further, Doug kept a neutral expression.  He did not feel anywhere near as optimistic as he pretended to be but there was no point in letting Tom know that.  They needed to keep level heads and not let their personal involvement in the case get in the way of doing their jobs.  Booker had been missing for five days and each hour that passed made finding him less and less likely.

Lowering his arm, he nodded towards the main operations room.  “Coffee?” he suggested.

“Sure,” Tom sighed glumly and with sagging shoulders, he slowly followed Doug in search of the caffeine that would keep his mind awake.

**

The dream was vivid in its clarity.  He was lying in Conan’s arms, their bodies draped across a huge bed swathed in blue satin sheets that shimmered like sunlight dancing across the ocean.  Light fingertips trailed over his growing erection, gently teasing him to life and his body squirmed beneath the stimulating touch.  His arousal was intoxicating and he thrust his pelvis forward, urging the gentle fingers to explore him further; to tug, to stroke, to rub, to make him grow like a flower towards sunlight.  He longed to release his juices, to cover the tender hand with his essence and show him how much he loved him, how grateful he was to him, how he wanted to be with him forever…

Dennis woke with a jolt.  He was lying alone on the cold cement floor, his erect cock grasped tightly in his right hand.  Sweat beaded on his forehead and he tried to clear his addled mind.  But his throbbing erection dominated his thoughts and closing his eyes, he started to jerk off.  As his arousal intensified, sweat slicked his naked body and he shivered from excitement and the chill night air.  His hand worked faster and he started to pant.  He was close and he longed to gain his release.  A soft moan escaped his lips as he imagined a hot mouth enveloping his weeping cockhead and with a strangled cry, his seed shot forth and covered his cold, numb fingers.

A moment of lucidity filled his mind and tears streamed down his face.  He no longer knew who he was or what his body craved.  It was frightening and he feared the drugs were damaging his brain, creating a blurred line between reality and fantasy.  He was a lost soul being ferried by Charon across the River Styx and towards the Underworld.  He was losing his grip on _this_ world and once he reached the other side, there was no hope of returning to the life he once knew… he would remain lost forever.

Drawing his knees to his chest, he curled into the fetal position and allowed his mind to regress back to his fantasy.  It was safe there and he was protected from the harsh light of reality, the pain that wracked his body and the knowledge that he was slowly losing his mind.

**

Conan stood up and surveyed his handiwork.  In front of him loomed a large cage with a single door running the length of the front.  Inside, a king-size mattress took up most of the floor space, there were no sheets but two plump pillows decorated the futon.  A slow grin played over his lips when he imagined Dennis lying on the mattress in his new home, naked and compliant, just waiting to be fucked and reaching down, he stroked his cock through the material of his denims.

Walking around the cage, he continued to fondle himself as he tested the sturdiness of the construction by rattling the bars.  The cage took up about a quarter of the basement floor and it was high enough for his captive to stand up and move around in.  Apart from the bed, the only other items in the homemade prison were a toilet and hand basin that he had plumbed in the day before.  Wanting to give Dennis some level of privacy, he had hung a curtain around the makeshift bathroom, however, that was the only privacy he would allow his toy to have.  He wanted him naked and ready for the taking whenever he felt the urge and he knew the urge would be often.  Dennis was an Adonis, a modern day God of beauty and desire and he was the perfect piece of ass to fuel his sexual appetite.  He had dreamed of the day that he would have a willing slave whose body he could enjoy day and night without complaint and now he had him, he _owned_ him.  The young cop had only been in his care for a few days and already he was training him, teaching him that he would be rewarded and the pain would go away if he just did as he was told.  It was simple mind control and Conan was a master at it.  His id, the dark inaccessible part of his personality dominated his unconsciousness.  The pleasure principle overrode his superego; he never felt remorse or guilt, his id ruled, demanding immediate satisfaction and ignoring the reality and logic of the everyday world.  In the words of a high school teacher, whose name was long forgotten in the annals of his mind, he was a typical psychopath.  His id and ego dominated over his deficient superego; he had no morals and he existed on unadulterated pleasure only.

Walking into the cage, he lay down on the mattress and released his cock from the confines of his jeans.  As he stroked himself to hardness, he imagined Dennis’ full lips wrapped around him and his body shivered in anticipation.  In a few short hours, his dark haired Adonis would be safely hidden in the basement of his unassuming middle class home, free from prying eyes and free for him to do as he pleased.  



	5. Traveling Towards Stockholm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Previously: Conan stood up and surveyed his handiwork. In front of him loomed a large cage with a single door running the length of the front. Inside, a king-size mattress took up most of the floor space, there were no sheets but two plump pillows decorated the futon. A slow grin played over his lips when he imagined Dennis lying on the mattress in his new home, naked and compliant, just waiting to be fucked and reaching down, he stroked his cock through the material of his denims._
> 
> _Walking around the cage, he continued to fondle himself as he tested the sturdiness of the construction by rattling the bars. The cage took up about a quarter of the basement floor and it was high enough for his captive to stand up and move around in. Apart from the bed, the only other items in the homemade prison were a toilet and hand basin that he had plumbed in the day before. Wanting to give Dennis some level of privacy, he had hung a curtain around the makeshift bathroom, however, that was the only privacy he would allow his toy to have. He wanted him naked and ready for the taking whenever he felt the urge and he knew the urge would be often. Dennis was an Adonis, a modern day God of beauty and desire and he was the perfect piece of ass to fuel his sexual appetite. He had dreamed of the day that he would have a willing slave whose body he could enjoy day and night without complaint and now he had him, he owned him. The young cop had only been in his care for a few days and already he was training him, teaching him that he would be rewarded and the pain would go away if he just did as he was told. It was simple mind control and Conan was a master at it. His id, the dark inaccessible part of his personality dominated his unconsciousness. The pleasure principle overrode his superego; he never felt remorse or guilt, his id ruled, demanding immediate satisfaction and ignoring the reality and logic of the everyday world. In the words of a high school teacher, whose name was long forgotten in the annals of his mind, he was a typical psychopath. His id and ego dominated over his deficient superego; he had no morals and he existed on unadulterated pleasure only._
> 
> _Walking into the cage, he lay down on the mattress and released his cock from the confines of his jeans. As he stroked himself to hardness, he imagined Dennis’ full lips wrapped around him and his body shivered in anticipation. In a few short hours, his dark haired Adonis would be safely hidden in the basement of his unassuming middle class home, free from prying eyes and free for him to do as he pleased._

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35590684480/in/album-72157683140201352/)

**Traveling Towards Stockholm**  

Dennis’ drug addled mind slowly returned to consciousness and opening his eyes, he discovered that he was in Conan’s arms and being carried down a flight of steps into what looked like a basement.  His limbs felt heavy and his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, making it difficult to speak.  He managed to let out a small moan as he tried to clear his mind of the narcotics that threaded an unseen cobweb through his veins but he was powerless against the effects.  Whatever Conan had injected into him had put him into a state of complete numbness, both in mind and body and although at first he felt terrified, he quickly realized that numbness meant no discomfort.  For the first time in a week, he was floating free from the dull stabbing pain that constantly throbbed inside his body.  It was a relief that was both therapeutic and calming, the drug had anesthetized him from the pain, both physically and mentally and it felt good; he felt tranquil.

Strong arms lowered him down and he sighed contentedly as he sank against the softness of the mattress beneath him.  He had slept on a cold cement floor for days and now, with a plump pillow beneath his head, he was in heaven.  When a gentle hand caressed his cheek, he nuzzled against it like a cat seeking attention and soft laughter echoed throughout the room.  “Do you like that baby doll?” Conan whispered.

Dennis grinned drowsily as tender fingers trailed over his flaccid cock.  Closing his eyes, he took delight from the tingling sensation that ran through his body as his nerves came alive.  “Mmm,” he murmured.

“Do you want Daddy to suck you before he has his fun?” Conan asked in a low, seductive voice tinged with malice.

“Mmm,” Dennis murmured again, his mind now too far gone from the effects of the drugs to understand the full implication of his captor’s words.  

Grinning like a psychotic madman, Conan positioned himself over Dennis’ prone body.  Gazing down at his victim’s beautiful sleepy face, he moistened his lips and lowering his head, he ran his tongue up the length of the lifeless shaft before sucking on the head.

Dennis’ body trembled as his nerves became stimulated and blood began to pump through his cock, bringing it to life.  He let out a soft gurgling sound and saliva drooled from between his lips.  He waited for the delightful sensation to continue, but instead, he felt a stinging blow to his cheek as a large hand slapped him across the face.  

His eyes flew open in surprise and he stared up at Conan, wondering what he had done wrong.  Unable to verbalize any words, tears of distress leaked from the corners of his eyes and trickling down his face, they soaked into the soft, white pillow laying beneath his head and disappeared like magic.

Grabbing a handkerchief out of his pocket, Conan scrubbed at the spittle that coated Dennis’ chin.  “Filthy little pig,” he growled furiously.  “Dribbling like the village idiot.  Now Daddy’s gonna have to teach you a lesson.”

Whatever pretense of tenderness he had shown was now gone and bending Dennis’ legs at the knees, he forced them open and rammed his finger into his unprepared anus.  Dennis’ eyes bulged as pain ripped through his insides once again and he let out a strangled cry.    A second finger quickly followed the first and when the third and fourth finger entered him, he started to scream.

Another stinging blow to the head frightened him into silence and tears streamed down his face as Conan inserted his thumb and began to rotate his hand until it was completely inside.  As his torturer fisted his hand in and out, Dennis’ rectal wall tore and blood seeped out onto the mattress below, forming a large red stain. 

It was only when Dennis eventually lost consciousness that Conan stopped.  Removing his hand, he stared at the bloody mess on the mattress and grinned.  That would teach the little pig to dribble.  It was all about training; Dennis was the pupil and he was the master.  Pain was the great educator and he was sure his bitch would soon learn right from wrong.  But if not, he still had plenty of lessons up his sleeve.

Wiping his bloody fingers down Dennis’ torso, he stared at the abstract design the sanguine fluid made against the tanned skin.  It was mesmerizing in its beauty and he felt like an artist bringing life to a blank canvas.  Reaching down, he unzipped his jeans and pulled out his semi erect cock.  Kneeling between Dennis’ open legs, he began to masturbate with one hand, whilst the index finger of the other traced patterns through the red liquid.  When he finally climaxed, he shot his semen over Dennis’ stomach, adding the sticky white fluid to the conceptual painting forming over the taut skin.

A post orgasm calm washed over his body and he absently trailed a finger through the mess of bodily fluids coating Dennis’ stomach.  Losing himself in the moment, his psychotic mind began to imagine what other lessons he could use to teach his slave respect.

**

Ted Granger was not the classiest of lawyers but even he felt sick to his stomach at the thought of underage pornography.  Although Dennis was not underage, he knew in his heart that there was truth behind the allegation that the Teen Scene School of Modeling was a front for something more sinister and therefore, underage kids _had_ been exploited.  Staring at the low life sitting in front of him, he almost wanted to say _to hell with it_ and walk away but he knew he could not.  He was a lawyer and like it or not, he had to do what was best for his client.

Leaning back in his chair, he let out a weary sigh.  There was no point in beating around the bush, he needed answers so that he knew what he was dealing with.  “Do you know where he is?” he asked flatly.

John Steiner rubbed at his nose and glared at his lawyer with narrow eyes.  “And if I do, how does that help _me?”_

Granger could feel his blood pressure rising but he attempted to stay calm.  “How it _helps_ you Mr. Steiner is that we can cut a deal with the prosecutor.  We know you’re involved in this pornography ring but _how_ involved you are depends on what you tell the police.  If your information leads to the safe return of…”  He paused for a moment and glancing down at his notes, he found the name he was looking for.  “…Officer Booker, then it may just be deemed that you were an innocent bystander, unaware that it wasn’t all an act for the cameras.  You probably won’t even serve any time inside.”

Steiner absently pulled at his lower lip as he carefully considered Granger’s words.  He did not want to go to prison, he had seen too many rapes in his lifetime and the last thing he wanted was to become a victim himself.  Taking a deep breath, he stared back at his lawyer.  “I’ll draw you a map.”

**

Hanson stared straight ahead, his jaw clenched tightly closed as Penhall sped through the city streets towards the address that Steiner had eventually given them.  In a written statement, the stocky man had detailed the whereabouts of the warehouse that was the location of the set that Ferris used for his pornographic movies.  He also admitted that he had seen Dennis there but he emphasized that as far as he knew, he had been employed as an extra.  When questioned further, he mentioned that when the movie was over, Dennis had become friendly with his co-star, a tall muscular man who went by the stage name Conan.  It took another half an hour before he told them that Dennis had _willingly_ left with Conan when the movie had finished but he had no idea where they went.

The information was only a small lead but Tom and Doug immediately acted upon it.  Although doubtful that they would find Dennis at the warehouse, they needed to go there and investigate the scene.  Judy and Harry stayed behind at the Chapel and started running the name Conan through the police database in the hopes of finding something.  But again, the information was flimsy.  Conan was a pseudonym and Steiner was adamant that he had no idea of the porn star’s real name.  It was then that Fuller organized a warrant for Ferris’ arrest.  He was the one man who would have the information they needed and this time, Adam Fuller would _make_ him give up his secrets.

**

Penhall pulled up to the curb and slammed on the handbrake.  Tom leaped from the car and ran down the rubbish filled alleyway, the stench of rotting food barely registering in his nostrils.  When Penhall came up behind him, puffing heavily, he took out his gun and nodded towards the door.  “On the count of three, one… two… _three!”_

The door of the warehouse crashed inwards and Tom entered cautiously.  Looking quickly left to right, he signaled for Penhall to check the room that led off from the main area.  If the storehouse had been the location for an adult movie set, there was no evidence left now.  The room was devoid of any furniture or equipment and the only telltale sign that it had ever been occupied, was a broom propped up in the corner.

Penhall walked out of the side room and holstered his gun.  “It’s empty,” he informed his partner in a despondent voice.  “It’s just a room with a bathroom but…”  His voice trailed off and his expression became anguished.  “Tommy, there’s… oh Jesus… there’s blood on the floor.”

Tom’s vision blurred and the room began to spin.  Stumbling forward, he dropped to his knees and vomited onto the cement floor.  He had refused to believe that Booker could be dead but now it was a very real possibility and if it was true, he knew he would never forgive himself for failing to save him.

**

Dennis’ eyes fluttered open and he moaned as a sharp pain stabbed deep inside his anus.  Gasping for breath, he pulled himself into a sitting position and immediately the foul smell of semen and blood assaulted his nostrils.  Looking down, he gagged when he saw the vile sticky mess coating his stomach and dropping to his hands, he spewed up the meager amount of food in his stomach along with copious amounts of watery bile.  Minutes passed and when he had nothing left to pass, the sound of him dry heaving echoed throughout the small basement.  Pain wracked his body and he knew the effects of the drugs were wearing off.  It was a bittersweet feeling; when he was sober, he was no longer a mindless automaton, ruled by the depraved actions of a lunatic.  But on the counter side, the drugs numbed the pain in both his body and mind and without the effects, he feared slipping into his own form of madness.  The fabric of his mind was slowly tearing apart and it was easier to live in the fantasy world he had started to create.  The fantasy that made him feel bad that he had made Conan so angry when he was trying to do something nice for him, the fantasy that none of it was Conan’s fault and lastly, the fantasy that he now had a nice safe place to live, free from the lights and cameras.  He was unaware that he was slipping into what was commonly known as Stockholm syndrome, a psychological phenomenon in which hostages felt empathy and sympathy toward their captor.  It was a coping mechanism, a way for the ego to defend itself.  When the victim believed the same values as the aggressor, they ceased to be a threat and therefore, the victim no longer felt mistreated.

Lying his throbbing body back down on the soiled mattress, he drew his knees up to his chest and closed his eyes.  He would have to try harder to be good and please _Daddy_ because it was a well known fact, _Daddy_ always knew best.  



	6. Saving Officer Booker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Previously: Dennis’ eyes fluttered open and he moaned as a sharp pain stabbed deep inside his anus.  Gasping for breath, he pulled himself into a sitting position and immediately the foul smell of semen and blood assaulted his nostrils.  Looking down, he gagged when he saw the vile sticky mess coating his stomach and dropping to his hands, he spewed up the meager amount of food in his stomach along with copious amounts of watery bile.  Minutes passed and when he had nothing left to pass, the sound of him dry heaving echoed throughout the small basement.  Pain wracked his body and he knew the effects of the drugs were wearing off.  It was a bittersweet feeling; when he was sober, he was no longer a mindless automaton, ruled by the depraved actions of a lunatic.  But on the counter side, the drugs numbed the pain in both his body and mind and without the effects, he feared slipping into his own form of madness.  The fabric of his mind was slowly tearing apart and it was easier to live in the fantasy world he had started to create.  The fantasy that made him feel bad that he had made Conan so angry when he was trying to do something nice for him, the fantasy that none of it was Conan’s fault and lastly, the fantasy that he now had a nice safe place to live, free from the lights and cameras.  He was unaware that he was slipping into what was commonly known as Stockholm syndrome, a psychological phenomenon in which hostages felt empathy and sympathy toward their captor.  It was a coping mechanism, a way for the ego to defend itself.  When the victim believed the same values as the aggressor, they ceased to be a threat and therefore, the victim no longer felt mistreated._
> 
> _Lying his throbbing body back down on the soiled mattress, he drew his knees up to his chest and closed his eyes.  He would have to try harder to be good and please Daddy because it was a well known fact, Daddy always knew best._   
> 

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35590684400/in/album-72157683140201352/)

**Saving Officer Booker**  

The sound of heavy footsteps on the basement stairs pulled Dennis from a light sleep.  Since his brutal assault, Conan had not given him any more drugs and his body trembled from the withdrawal and the hot pain that stabbed inside him.  When the door of the cage flew open, he knew he was in trouble and he attempted to drag his filthy, injured body out of harm’s way.  But within seconds, a large hand grabbed a handful of his dark hair and yanked his head upwards.  His wide, frightened eyes stared up into an angry face and he wondered what he had done that had made _Daddy_ so mad.  As he felt his hair ripping from his scalp, tears leaked from the corners of his eyes and he let out a small cry.  Grasping hold of Conan’s thick wrist, he began to sob and snot bubbled from his nostril.  “I’m sorry… I’m _sorry!”_

Conan stared down at Booker in disgust.  His Adonis was rapidly becoming nothing more than a filthy, sniveling whore and it angered him that it might be his final memory of what had once been a beautiful face.  Throwing his captive back down onto the mattress, he forcefully grabbed hold of his chin and squeezed it menacingly.  “Word on the street is, some fuckin’ lowlife’s snitched on me,” he growled.  “I need to get out of here and I don’t have time to take you with me.”  Leaning in close, his eyes glinted with malice.  “But rest assured baby doll,” he breathed against Dennis face, “I _will_ find you again and when I do, you and me are gonna be together for a _looong_ time.”

Terror gripped Dennis’ heart but it had nothing to do with Conan’s threatening words.  It was the fear of abandonment, of being alone without the comfort of a gentle caress or the mind-altering drugs that helped to numb his physical and mental pain.  His eyes grew wide with panic and reaching out, he grasped frantically at Conan’s shirt.  “Don’t leave me,” he begged.  “Please, please don’t leave _me!”_

A cruel smile played over Conan’s lips and for a moment, he considered picking Dennis up and carrying him out of the house.  But he knew he did not have time, his informant had always been reliable and he took him at his word; the cops were on their way and he needed to skip town and he needed to do it quickly.

Ignoring Dennis’ grimy face, he pulled him into his arms and kissed him forcefully.  It was a brutal kiss, hard and possessive, without any show of affection.  His tongue raped Dennis’ mouth, cruelly taking what should have been given willingly and when he was done, he threw him back down against the mattress like a discarded piece of trash.  Standing up, he wiped the back of his hand against his lips.  “Au revoir baby doll,” he smirked.  “I’ll be seeing you again _real_ soon.”

Turning away, he hurried from the cage and in his haste, he did not even bother locking the door.  Heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs and when the basement door slammed shut, Dennis once again found himself alone.

**

Mike Ferris could feel his ship sinking and he decided to save himself and to hell with his crew.  Ignoring Tom’s penetrating stare, he turned to face his lawyer.  “If I cooperate, I’ll get a reduced sentence, right?”

Looking into the rodent face of a man who exploited minors made Maxine Howard’s skin crawl but she kept her expression neutral.  “I can’t promise you anything Mr. Ferris,” she replied in a business-like tone, “but any information you voluntarily offer that helps us find Officer Booker will certainly be looked upon favorably by the court.”

Ferris knew he had nowhere left to run and sighing heavily, he nodded his head.  “Okay, here’s what I know.  Conan’s name is Maurice Keppler.  He’s been in the industry for about ten years but he also goes by other aliases.”

Tom stepped forward and laying his hands flat on the table, he peered into Ferris’ narrow eyes.  “So is Keppler his real name or an alias?” he asked in a strained voice.

An amused smile twitched at Ferris’ lips.  “Hey, do I _look_ like I work at the Census Bureau?” he taunted in a low voice.  “Keppler’s the name _I_ know him by so why don’t _you_ go and do your job and run his name through your database, ‘cause I haven’t got anything else to say except tick tock Officer Hanson, you’re wasting time.”

With lightning speed, Tom reached out and grabbing Ferris by the front of his shirt, he hauled him over the table.  “You perverted piece of shit!” he yelled into the startled man's face.  “You’d better hope he’s okay or I’ll—”

Penhall quickly intervened before Tom said anything that could be construed as a threat.  “Hanson,” he warned in a low voice.  

Tom glared into Ferris’ grinning face before shoving him back into his chair.  Turning towards Penhall, he ran a shaky hand through his hair.  “Let’s go,” he muttered.  “I don’t want to look at this fucking scumbag another minute.”

Penhall nodded and casting one last glance at Ferris, he followed Tom out the door.

**

Keppler’s house presented nicely from the outside.  The manicured lawns were bordered by red and white rose bushes that were neatly pruned and in full bloom.  The front of the single storey house consisted of four small, latticed windows, two on either side of the double front door.  It was a pleasant, unassuming home that fitted in with the middle class neighborhood.

Penhall pulled up to the curb and before Tom could jump from the car, he reached out and grabbed his arm.  “We do this by the book,” he instructed in a calm voice.  “Okay?”

Tom’s heart was racing in his chest and he longed to break down the white painted door so he could rescue the man who was now dominating his thoughts night and day.  But he knew Penhall was right.  He was a police officer and he needed to respect the protocol.  

A wan smile played over his lips.  “Okay,” he murmured and turning away, he climbed out of the vehicle.  A squad car pulled up behind them and two uniformed officers jumped out.  When Doug was standing beside him, he turned and addressed them.  “Penhall and I will go in first, you two stay outside and cover the front.  We’ve got backup at the rear of the property so he can’t escape.  Judge Ellis has issued a warrant so there will be no pleasantries; we’re breaking down the door and going in.  The paramedics are on their way, tell them to wait outside until we call them.  Any questions?”

The two young officers shook their heads and unholstering his gun, Tom turned his attention back to his partner.  “Ready?”

With his Glock already in his hand, Doug nodded and followed Tom up the gravel driveway.  When they reached the wide front door, Tom reached out and tried the doorknob.  He was surprised when it turned easily in his hand and his pulse quickened.  Pushing open the door, he stepped slowly inside, with Doug close behind him.

Within less than a minute, they had checked the ground floor and it was obvious to both officers that Conan had left the house in a hurry.  Drawers and cupboards stood open and items of clothing were strewn around the bedroom.  The bathroom was devoid of any toiletries and a strong box lay open on the bed, its contents liberated in such a hurry that several hundred dollar bills still remained inside.

Returning to the kitchen, Tom nodded towards the basement door.  It was the only room left in the house and he hoped and prayed that Booker was down there and that he had not been whisked away by his kidnapper to some unknown destination.

Opening the door, he slowly descended the wooden staircase.  Sunlight filtered into the room from a small rectangular window that sat high up on the wall.  When he was half way down the steps, he stopped and drew in a sharp intake of breath.  Below him, he could see a cage and lying on a mattress was Booker, naked as the day he was born.

He could hear Penhall’s footsteps and he immediately held his hand out behind him, signaling for him to stop.  “Don’t come any further,” he hissed.

Doug stopped moving.  “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice tinged with alarm.  “Is it Booker?”

Tom stood motionless, his gaze remaining fixed on the lifeless body lying in the cage and he struggled to keep his hands from shaking.  From his vantage point on the stairs, he had no idea if Booker was dead or alive but he wanted to give him his dignity and not have dozens of prying eyes staring at his naked body.  

Adrenalin began to pump through his veins and his frozen mind suddenly jumped into action.  Descending the last few steps two at a time, he yelled out to Doug over his shoulder.  “We’ve found him!  Get the paramedics but no one comes down here until I say so!”

“Hanson—” Doug began but he was quickly shouted down by Tom.

“Just do it!”

Turning around, Doug raced back up the stairs and disappeared from view.  When Tom reached the floor of the basement, he holstered his gun before slowly walking over to the open door of the cage.  Blood pounded in his ears and he struggled to breathe.  He was terrified that when he reached Booker, he would turn him over and see sightless eyes staring up at him.  If Booker were indeed dead, he would have to live with the pain for the rest of his life and the haunting knowledge that he had been too late to save him.

Holding his breath, he moved inside the cage and slowly approached the prone figure.  Time stood still as he crept forward, terrified of what he would find.  But when he saw Booker’s foot twitch, his breath exhaled in a rush and hurrying forward, he dropped to his knees.  “Dennis,” he choked and tears of relief filled his eyes.  “It’s Tom.  You’re okay, everything’s going to be okay.”  Reaching out, he laid a comforting hand on Booker’s naked shoulder, desperate to hear his voice, desperate for him to say that he was all right.

Dennis rolled over and stared up at Tom, his beautiful dark eyes full of pain and confusion.  Tom gasped when he saw the dried blood and semen that still coated his stomach and matted his dark pubic hair.  Biting down hard on his lower lip to stop himself from crying out, he shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over the young officer’s waist, concealing his nakedness and the bloody mess that covered his body.  “It’s okay, you’re safe, it’s okay,” he muttered over and over as he stroked Booker’s tangled hair, all the while wondering if it would ever be okay again.  

When Dennis' cold fingers clutched his hand, he gave them a reassuring squeeze and lifting his head, he yelled out to Penhall.  “DOUG!  Get the paramedics down here… _NOW!”_

A scurry of footsteps sounded from upstairs and moments later, two men entered the cage, followed by a wide-eyed Doug.  Tom tried to step back but Booker kept a firm grasp on his fingers and so he remained next to him whilst the EMTs did their job.  

Doug started to speak but his voice trailed off after muttering one solitary word.  “Jesus...” 

Tom gazed up at his partner with teary eyes.  “He’ll be okay,” he whispered, unsure whether he uttered the words to comfort Doug, Booker or himself.  “He’s strong, he’ll be okay.”

The taller of the two paramedics turned and addressed him.  “We’re ready to go, we’ll have to carry him up the steps to the stretcher and then we’ll take him to Saint Mary’s.”

Doug quickly exited the cage and silently watched as Booker was carried from his prison.  When they reached the staircase, Tom gently extricated his fingers from Booker’s grasp and gave his shoulder a squeeze.  “You’re in safe hands now Dennis.  I’ll see you at the hospital, okay?”

A single tear leaked from Dennis’ eye but he remained silent.  Stepping back so that they had room to climb the stairs, Tom wiped a hand over his own watery eyes.  Moments later, he felt a comforting arm around his shoulders and turning around, he gazed into Doug’s sad eyes.  “He’ll be all right, won’t he?” he asked in a quiet voice.

Doug gave Tom the answer he needed to hear.  “Of course he will.  Now go to the hospital and make sure he gets the best care.  I’ll phone Fuller and give him an update.”

Tom hurried up the stairs and when he arrived outside, Booker was already in the ambulance.  He stood and watched the vehicle as it drove off down the street, its red lights flashing in the dimness of the impending nightfall.  Turning to one of the young uniformed officers, he struggled to keep the emotion out of his voice.  “Take me to Saint Mary’s,” he muttered and climbing into the patrol car, he attempted to push the nightmare of what he had just witnessed from his mind.  



	7. Whispers of Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Previously: Tom stood motionless, his gaze remaining fixed on the lifeless body lying in the cage and he struggled to keep his hands from shaking. From his vantage point on the stairs, he had no idea if Booker was dead or alive but he wanted to give him his dignity and not have dozens of prying eyes staring at his naked body._
> 
> _Adrenalin began to pump through his veins and his frozen mind suddenly jumped into action. Descending the last few steps two at a time, he yelled out to Doug over his shoulder. “We’ve found him! Get the paramedics but no one comes down here until I say so!”_
> 
> _“Hanson—” Doug began but he was quickly shouted down by Tom._
> 
> _“Just do it!”_
> 
> _Turning around, Doug raced back up the stairs and disappeared from view. When Tom reached the floor of the basement, he holstered his gun before slowly walking over to the open door of the cage. Blood pounded in his ears and he struggled to breathe. He was terrified that when he reached Booker, he would turn him over and see sightless eyes staring up at him. If Booker were indeed dead, he would have to live with the pain for the rest of his life and the haunting knowledge that he had been too late to save him._
> 
> _Holding his breath, he moved inside the cage and slowly approached the prone figure. Time stood still as he crept forward, terrified of what he would find. But when he saw Booker’s foot twitch, his breath exhaled in a rush and hurrying forward, he dropped to his knees. “Dennis,” he choked and tears of relief filled his eyes. “It’s Tom. You’re okay, everything’s going to be okay.” Reaching out, he laid a comforting hand on Booker’s naked shoulder, desperate to hear his voice, desperate for him to say that he was all right._
> 
> _Dennis rolled over and stared up at Tom, his beautiful dark eyes full of pain and confusion. Tom gasped when he saw the dried blood and semen that still coated his stomach and matted his dark pubic hair. Biting down hard on his lower lip to stop himself from crying out, he shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over the young officer’s waist, concealing his nakedness and the bloody mess that covered his body. “It’s okay, you’re safe, it’s okay,” he muttered over and over as he stroked Booker’s tangled hair, all the while wondering if it would ever be okay again._
> 
> _When Dennis' cold fingers clutched his hand, he gave them a reassuring squeeze and lifting his head, he yelled out to Penhall. “DOUG! Get the paramedics down here… NOW!”_
> 
> _A scurry of footsteps sounded from upstairs and moments later, two men entered the cage, followed by a wide-eyed Doug. Tom tried to step back but Booker kept a firm grasp on his fingers and so he remained next to him whilst the EMTs did their job._
> 
> _Doug started to speak but his voice trailed off after muttering one solitary word. “Jesus.”_
> 
> _Tom gazed up at his partner with teary eyes. “He’ll be okay,” he whispered, unsure whether he uttered the words to comfort Doug, Booker or himself. “He’s strong, he’ll be okay.”_
> 
> _The taller of the two paramedics turned and addressed him. “We’re ready to go, we’ll have to carry him up the steps to the stretcher and then we’ll take him to Saint Mary’s.”_
> 
> _Doug quickly exited the cage and silently watched as Booker was carried from his prison. When they reached the staircase, Tom gently extricated his fingers from Booker’s grasp and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “You’re in safe hands now Dennis. I’ll see you at the hospital, okay?”_
> 
> _A single tear leaked from Dennis’ eye but he remained silent. Stepping back so that they had room to climb the stairs, Tom wiped a hand over his own watery eyes. Moments later, he felt a comforting arm around his shoulders and turning around, he gazed into Doug’s sad eyes. “He’ll be all right, won’t he?” he asked in a quiet voice._
> 
> _Doug gave Tom the answer he needed to hear. “Of course he will. Now go to the hospital and make sure he gets the best care. I’ll phone Fuller and give him an update.”_
> 
> _Tom hurried up the stairs and when he arrived outside, Booker was already in the ambulance. He stood and watched the vehicle as it drove off down the street, its red lights flashing in the dimness of the impending nightfall. Turning to one of the young uniformed officers, he struggled to keep the emotion out of his voice. “Take me to Saint Mary’s,” he muttered and climbing into the patrol car, he attempted to push the nightmare of what he had just witnessed from his mind._

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35590684250/in/album-72157683140201352/)

**Whispers of Pain**

Tom strode up and down the corridor of the ER, occasionally checking his watch before resuming his frantic pacing.  It had been three hours since Booker’s arrival and he had yet to speak to a doctor who could advise him of his condition.  The memory of the dry blood smeared over the young officer’s stomach filtered into his mind and hot, watery bile rose in his throat.  But he swallowed deeply, forcing the vomit back down before it could take hold.  The last thing he wanted to do was fall apart.  He needed to be strong, he needed to be there for Booker and help him through the trauma he had experienced; he needed to be a friend.

The exam room door opened and a portly doctor exited, his mouth set in a firm line.  Tom stepped forward and cleared his throat.  “Excuse me, I’m here with Officer Booker.  How is he?”

The doctor looked him up and down.  “Are you family?”

Tom pulled out his badge.  “I’m Officer Hanson, I work with Dennis,” he replied in an authoritative voice, “and this is now a police matter, so any information you can give—”

Doctor Langley waved a dismissive hand at him.  “Spare me your spiel Officer Hanson,” he retorted wearily, “I know the drill.”  He motioned towards the red plastic chairs that lined the corridor but when Tom shook his head, he took a seat himself.  “I hope you don’t mind,” he sighed, “it’s been a long shift.”

“Of course not,” Tom murmured.

Langley opened the folder in his hand and glanced at his notes.  “There is evidence of sexual activity.  I have done an internal exam and there is anal tearing, which makes me believe Officer Booker was raped.  He is malnourished, dehydrated and he appears to be under the influence of some kind of narcotic.  I’ve taken blood and we will screen for STDs and drugs.  Samples of the blood and semen covering his body will also be sent to the lab for DNA testing.”  He paused for a moment before lifting his head and giving Tom a serious look.  “Officer Booker has been through a terrible ordeal and once he is well enough, I’m recommending that he be moved to our psychiatric wing.”

Tom swallowed down the lump that had formed in his throat.  “Is that really necessary?” he asked.  “Wouldn’t he be better off with his family?”

Langley stood up and placing his hands on his hips, he stretched his aching back.  “It’ll just be for a few days so we can monitor his state of mind.  It’s really for his own protection in case… well, we don’t want him doing anything to harm himself.”

A cold chill ran down Tom’s spine.  The thought that Dennis might try to commit suicide had never entered his mind and now that the doctor had mentioned it, he realized it was a real possibility.  “Does it happen often?” he asked quietly, 

The doctor’s expression remained grim.  “More often than we’d like.”

Tom chewed anxiously on his lower lip.  “But he’ll speak to a psychologist and that’ll help him deal with it, right?”

Langley managed a small smile.  “We’ll do everything we can to help him,” he replied.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other patients to see.”

The next words out of Tom’s mouth were uttered before he had time to think what he might be getting himself into.  “Can I see him?”

Surprised by Tom’s request, Langley thought for a moment before he gave his reply.  “I think it would be best if he saw his family first.”

Running a hand through his hair, Tom gave the doctor what he hoped was a beseeching look.  “His family live out of state, they won’t arrive until tomorrow.  I think he could really use a friend.”

“ _Are_ you his friend?” Langley asked directly.  “Because he’s in a very fragile state of mind and he needs people around him who genuinely care about his welfare.”

Lowering his gaze, Tom let out a sigh.  “No, I guess we’re not really _friends_ , but we work together and we trust each other with our lives.  Doesn’t that count for something?”

Once again, Langley took his time considering Tom’s statement before replying, “I suppose it does and he could use some support until his family arrives.  But be careful what you say, I know you’re a police officer but I don’t want him interviewed until the drugs are out of his system and he can think clearly.  Understood?”

Tom nodded.  “Understood.”

**

Standing outside Booker’s hospital room, Tom closed his eyes and took several deep breaths as he psyched himself up in preparation for what he was about to face.  Doctor Langley had explained that the drugs were slowly leaving Dennis’ system and that he was becoming more aware of his surroundings.  Tom could not help but wonder how much he remembered about the rapes and he hoped that he had been too stoned to understand what was happening to him.  But only Dennis could answer that question and he had promised Langley that there would be no official interview until he had been given the all clear.  The last thing he wanted on his conscience was the knowledge that he had pushed Booker too hard too early.  He knew that they needed as much information as they could gather if they had any hope of ever catching Keppler but he was not prepared to compromise Dennis’ mental wellbeing in the process.  The interview could wait and until then, they would continue their search for Keppler through good old-fashioned police work.

When he opened his eyes, he felt a little calmer and he knew he could not put off the inevitable any longer.  He would have to see Booker sometime and he believed it was better to do it sooner rather than later.  It was important to him that Booker knew that he was there for him, whatever he needed and that he did not view him any differently because of what had happened.  He knew he needed to tread carefully; his feelings for Booker had increased exponentially since he went missing and it was vital that he did not show him too much affection.  Booker was likely to be wary of male contact and he did not want to spook him.  Also, he was not delusional.  No matter how much he wanted it, he knew he would never have a relationship with Dennis beyond friendship and even that was not a given.  Booker was one-hundred percent straight and he needed to push aside his sexual desire for the dark haired officer and concentrate on helping him through his ordeal.

Without giving himself any more time to ponder on the what’s and what ifs, he took one more deep, calming breath and walked into the room.  A white curtain was pulled around the bed, shielding Dennis from view and he stopped and cleared his throat before speaking.  “Dennis?  Um, it’s Hanson.  Can I come in?”

Silence greeted his request and he stood there wondering what to do.  He did not want to invade Dennis’ privacy if he did not want visitors but more importantly, he also did not want him to think that he had been abandoned.  Therefore, _impulsive Tom_ overrode _cautious Tom_ and pulling back the curtain, he stepped inside.

Booker lay with his eyes closed and his arms resting on top of the white sheet that covered his body.  He had obviously had a shower and his damp hair curled around his pale face, giving him a much younger appearance than his twenty-three years.  An IV pumped fluid into a vein in his right arm and there was a blood pressure cuff wrapped around his left.  

Tom jumped when the cuff suddenly came to life, slowly inflating before deflating noisily and recording a reading of 130/90.  Rubbing a nervous hand over his mouth, he pulled up a chair and sat down at Dennis’ bedside.  More than anything, he wanted to reach out to him and give comfort through a gentle touch, but he held back.  He was frightened of what the reaction would be and he did not want to cause the young officer any undue stress.  Therefore, he remained silent and motionless, hoping that Dennis was gaining some comfort from his presence.

Thirty minutes passed and he knew that visiting hours would soon be over.  Getting to his feet, he began to walk away when a warm hand grasped his fingers.  Turning around with a start, he immediately fell under the gaze of two jet black eyes and when tears began to leak from the corners and trickle down the pale cheeks, he threw all caution to the wind.  “Oh Dennis,” he whispered and sitting back down, he grasped the warm hand in both of his and held it tightly.  “I’m sorry.  I’m so, so sorry.”

Dennis closed his eyes but his tears seeped from beneath the lids and trailed their way down his face.  “Stay,” he whispered in a raspy voice.

Tom’s own eyes filled with tears and he squeezed Dennis’ fingers.  “I’m here Dennis, for as long as you need me, I’m here.”

“Thank you,” Dennis croaked and moments later, he was asleep, secure in the knowledge that he was finally safe. 

**

An hour after visiting hours were over, an insistent nurse finally told Tom to leave and as he walked out of the sliding doors of the hospital, he suddenly felt very alone.  He desperately needed to feel the warm embrace of another human being and he briefly considered going to the Rainbow Bar and picking up a one-night stand.  But he was not sure that casual sex with a faceless man would take his mind off Booker and so he dismissed the thought.  Instead, he decided to go and see Doug.  It was late but Doug’s door was always open to him, no matter what time of the day or night.  It was one of the wonderful things about their friendship, they never turned each other away.

He hailed a cab and stared mindlessly out of the window as it drove the short distance to Penhall’s loft apartment.  When he alighted several minutes later, he walked into the building and stopped outside of Doug’s door.  He paused for a moment before rapping his knuckles loudly against the wooden paneling.

Moments later, the door opened and Doug’s sleepy face peered through the gap between the chain lock.  “Hanson?” he muttered as he ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair.  “Is everything okay?  I didn’t expect to see you till tomorrow.”

The right side of Tom’s mouth twitched into an apologetic smile.  “Sorry, it’s just…”  His voice trailed off and his eyes glistened with tears.  “Jesus Doug, I could really use someone to talk to.”

Doug slipped off the chain and opened the door.  “Sure buddy, whatever you need.”  When Tom entered the apartment, he closed the door behind him.  “Can I get you anything?”

Another small smile played over Tom’s lips, but it did not reach his eyes and he sighed wearily.  “I could really use a drink.”

“Beer okay?” Doug asked as he moved towards the refrigerator.  “Or do you want something stronger?”

Tom flopped down onto the couch and leaned back against the cushions.  “Whiskey if you’ve got it,” he replied.

Doug grabbed an unopened bottle of Jack Daniel’s and tucked it under his arm.  He opened a cupboard door and took out two tumblers before walking back into the living room.  Sitting down next to his friend, he unscrewed the bottle cap and poured a large measure into each glass.  After handing one to his friend, he raised his in salute.  “To Booker’s recovery.”

Tears once again filled Tom’s eyes and leaning forward, he clinked his glass against Doug’s and swallowed down a large measure of the amber fluid.  A comforting warmth spread through his chest and down into his stomach and he took two more gulps before settling back against the leather couch.

Doug knew what he was about to ask was a stupid question, but he voiced it anyway.  “How is he?”

Tom sipped at his drink.  “As you’d expect.  The doctor wants to put him in a psych ward so they can keep an eye on him, you know, in case…”  Unable to finish the sentence, he cast his eyes down towards his lap and stared at his glass.

“Jesus,” Doug muttered and taking a large gulp of whiskey, he gazed at Tom with worried eyes.  “Do they really think he might hurt himself?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Tom continued to gaze at the glass he was nursing in his lap.  “It happens.”

Penhall drained his glass and quickly refilled it.  “I guess it’s not really surprising, I mean for a guy to have _that_ happen to him is pretty hard to deal with.”

Tom lifted his head and gave his friend a hard stare.  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

Doug’s cheeks flushed a soft pink.  “You know, it’s _unnatural_ for a guy to stick his _thing_ in another guy's butt.”

Clenching his hands tightly around his glass, Tom’s eyes blazed with anger.  “His _thing?_   Jesus Christ Penhall, how fucking old _are_ you?  And for your information, what two consenting adults do in private has _nothing_ to do with what happened to Dennis.  _Nothing!_   Keppler _forced_ him to have sex and what happened doesn’t have anything to do with homosexuality in the same way a woman being raped by a man doesn’t have anything to do with heterosexual sex.  We’re talking about rape!  We’re talking about fucking _RAPE!_   Dennis was _RAPED!”_

Surprised by the level of Tom’s ferocity, Doug realized that he had somehow touched a raw nerve but he had no idea why.  Not wanting to fight with his friend, he reached out a hand and laid it on his shoulder.  “Hey Tommy, I didn’t mean—”

Tom pulled away from Doug’s touch and slammed his drink down on the coffee table.  “Screw you Penhall,” he spat and getting to his feet, he stalked angrily towards the door.

“Tommy wait!” Doug yelled but the only answer he received was the resonating sound of a slamming door.  


 


	8. Pangs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Previously: Moments later, the door opened and Doug’s sleepy face peered through the gap between the chain lock. “Hanson?” he muttered as he ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. “Is everything okay? I didn’t expect to see you till tomorrow.”_
> 
> _The right side of Tom’s mouth twitched into an apologetic smile. “Sorry, it’s just…” His voice trailed off and his eyes glistened with tears. “Jesus Doug, I could really use someone to talk to.”_
> 
> _Doug slipped off the chain and opened the door. “Sure buddy, whatever you need.” When Tom entered the apartment, he closed the door behind him. “Can I get you anything?”_
> 
> _Another small smile played over Tom’s lips, but it did not reach his eyes and he sighed wearily. “I could really use a drink.”_
> 
> _“Beer okay?” Doug asked as he moved towards the refrigerator. “Or do you want something stronger?”_
> 
> _Tom flopped down onto the couch and leaned back against the cushions. “Whiskey if you’ve got it,” he replied._
> 
> _Doug grabbed an unopened bottle of Jack Daniel’s and tucked it under his arm. He opened a cupboard door and took out two tumblers before walking back into the living room. Sitting down next to his friend, he unscrewed the bottle cap and poured a large measure into each glass. After handing one to his friend, he raised his in salute. “To Booker’s recovery.”_
> 
> _Tears once again filled Tom’s eyes and leaning forward, he clinked his glass against Doug’s and swallowed down a large measure of the amber fluid. A comforting warmth spread through his chest and down into his stomach and he took two more gulps before settling back against the leather couch._
> 
> _Doug knew what he was about to ask was a stupid question, but he voiced it anyway. “How is he?”_
> 
> _Tom sipped at his drink. “As you’d expect. The doctor wants to put him in a psych ward so they can keep an eye on him, you know, in case…” Unable to finish the sentence, he cast his eyes down towards his lap and stared at his drink.”_
> 
> _“Jesus,” Doug muttered and taking a large gulp of whiskey, he gazed at Tom with worried eyes. “Do they really think he might hurt himself?”_
> 
> _Shrugging his shoulders, Tom continued to gaze at the glass he was nursing in his lap. “It happens.”_
> 
> _Penhall drained his glass and quickly refilled it. “I guess it’s not really surprising, I mean for a guy to have that happen to him is pretty hard to deal with.”_
> 
> _Tom lifted his head and gave his friend a hard stare. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”_
> 
> _Doug’s cheeks flushed a soft pink. “You know, it’s unnatural for a guy to stick his thing in another guy’s butt.”_
> 
> _Clenching his hands tightly around his glass, Tom’s eyes blazed with anger. “His thing? Jesus Christ Penhall, how fucking old are you? And for your information, what two consenting adults do in private has nothing to do with what happened to Dennis. Nothing! Keppler forced him to have sex and what happened doesn’t have anything to do with homosexuality in the same way that a woman being raped by a man doesn’t have anything to do with heterosexual sex. We’re talking about rape! We’re talking about fucking RAPE! Dennis was RAPED!”_
> 
> _Surprised by the level of Tom’s ferocity, Doug realized that he had somehow touched a raw nerve but he had no idea why. Not wanting to fight with his friend, he reached out a hand and laid it on his shoulder. “Hey Tommy, I didn’t mean—”_
> 
> _Tom pulled away from Doug’s touch and slammed his drink down on the coffee table. “Screw you Penhall,” he spat and getting to his feet, he stalked angrily towards the door._
> 
> _“Tommy wait!” Doug yelled but the only answer he received was the resonating sound of a slamming door._

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35590684130/in/album-72157683140201352/)

Hanson arrived at the Chapel early the following morning, desperate for any news on Booker’s condition. When he walked in, he immediately spied Doug sitting at his desk but the anger he had felt the previous evening was still very raw and so, with head down, he ignored him and striding across the room, he stopped outside Fuller’s open door and knocked on the wooden paneling. “Hey Cap’n, can I talk to you?”

Adam Fuller looked up from his paperwork. “Of course Hanson,” he replied with a small smile, “come in.”

Tom walked in and after closing the door, he sat down in front of his superior. “Any word on Booker?” he asked immediately.

Tilting back his chair, Fuller tented his fingers under his chin. “I’ve spoken to his parents,” he advised. “He’s resting comfortably.”

Not about to be fobbed off with meaningless platitudes, Tom raked an impatient hand through his hair and pushed his Captain for more information. “What I mean is, how’s he coping mentally, ‘cause the doctor said in these kind of cases it was common for a victim of rape to—”

Fuller leaned forward in his chair. “Hold on there Hanson,” he interrupted softly. “Booker’s receiving the best care possible but as of now, we are no longer privileged to his medical information.”

A frown creased Tom’s smooth brow. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“What it means,” Fuller replied with a patient sigh, “is that his parents have asked for privacy. They have instructed the hospital to keep visitors away and for Dennis’ treatment be kept confidential, even from the department. Of course, if he ever returns to the force he will have to speak to a psychologist who will be privy to all his medical records but—”

“Can they do that?” Tom asked in surprise. “I mean, can they really stop us from visiting?”

Fuller narrowed his eyes and scrutinized Tom’s anxious expression. He was honestly surprised at the level of his concern, as it was a well-known fact that Hanson and Booker had never been friends, if anything they went out of their way to antagonize each other. But he also knew Hanson was a compassionate and caring man and that finding Booker in the circumstances that he had would have shaken him to the very core of his being. Regardless of their mutual animosity, seeing Booker lying bloody and broken would have had a profound effect on Tom and it was understandable that he was concerned about his welfare. However, Fuller also knew that they needed to respect Dennis' parents' wishes. They knew their son better than anyone else did and if they believed Dennis needed his privacy, then they, as his colleagues, had to abide by the request. It could take a long time before Booker felt ready to return to the job he loved, if at all, but Fuller was hopefully that one day, he would be mentally fit enough to continue with what he believed was a promising career in the force.

Getting up from his chair, Fuller moved around his desk and laid a hand on Tom’s shoulder. “We need to do what’s right for Dennis,” he advised quietly. “He’s been through a lot and he’s a very proud and private man. It may be easier for him to go through this with only his family by his side, at least for the moment. Give him his space, I’m sure he knows we're all thinking of him.”

When Tom did not reply, he rested his backside on the edge of the desk and folding his arms across his chest, he gave his young officer a sympathetic look. “I’m recommending that you and Penhall speak to a therapist. What you witnessed must have affected you both.”

Tom lifted his head and his dark eyes shone with pain. “Yeah,” he muttered. “It was… _brutal_.”

Fuller nodded and as Tom stood up to leave, he rested a gentle hand on his arm. “My door’s always open Hanson, if you ever need to talk.”

Tears filled Tom’s eyes but he quickly blinked them away. “Thanks Coach,” he murmured and turning away, he walked from the room.

**

Doug sat at his desk and studied Tom’s bowed head. They had not spoken since their argument the night before and he wanted to make things right. Even though he knew he had not expressed himself very well, Tom’s violent reaction to his blundering words had surprised him. They were best friends and he thought Tom knew him well enough to know that he was not homophobic. However, if he was completely honest with himself, he really could not understand how gay men could do _that_ to each other. As a straight man, it seemed so _unnatural_ and he thought Tom would have felt the same way. He wished he had been able to express himself more articulately but that was not his way. He was clumsy with his words and his directness often landed him in trouble. However, he was a big enough man to admit when he was wrong and he regretted his boorish statement. It was obvious that Tom had needed a friend that night and his thoughtless words had done more harm than good. Therefore, it was up to him to offer the olive branch so that they could put it behind them and return their friendship to solid ground.

Getting up from his desk, he walked over to Tom and pulled up a chair. Turning it around, he straddled it backwards and rested his arms on the wooden back. “About last night, I’m sorry for what I said.”

Tom was not about to forgive that easily and lifting his head, he gazed angrily into Penhall’s passive face. “Really?” he asked in a rigid voice. “And what _exactly_ are you sorry for Doug? Acting like a sixth grader or for being a homophobic prick?”

Doug stared at Tom in surprise. “Homophobic?” he spluttered. “C’mon Hanson, that’s not fair. You know me better than that.”

Tom tried to keep the hurt out of his eyes. “I thought I did,” he muttered. “But you obviously don’t think that two men _should_ or _could_ love each other.”

Rubbing his fingers across his mouth, Doug attempted to voice his thoughts without causing Hanson any further offence. “Okay, I admit it… it seems strange to me,” he replied slowly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m against it. I was just trying to express how Booker might be feeling, you know, as a heterosexual guy and knowing that a man had... I mean… he must be finding it difficult to deal with and you and I would feel _exactly_ the same way… right? I mean, it’s just… well, it’s not… I mean—”

Tom held up his hand. “Stop!” he growled. “Just fucking stop. Jesus Christ Doug, why don’t you stop beating around the bush and just say it; the thought of two men having sex disgusts you. And by the way, you keep forgetting that what happened to Booker wasn’t about sex, it was rape and that’s a completely different thing.”

Raising an eyebrow, Doug gave Tom a quizzical look. “Okay, so what you’re saying is, two guys having _consensual_ sex doesn’t bother you, is that it?”

Hanson realized he had backed himself into a corner and he needed to be careful what he said, otherwise his well-kept secret would be revealed and he was not ready to deal with the consequences. “I’m pro choice,” he muttered hurriedly. “If it’s consensual, why should it matter?”

Penhall studied Tom’s expression and he was somewhat surprised when he saw how uncomfortable he looked. However, he put it down to the shock of what they had witnessed the night before and therefore he decided to let the matter drop rather than try to make his point. “You’re right,” he replied, “it shouldn’t matter. I’m just being an ass.” His trademark lopsided grin curled his lips and he held out his hand. “Friends?”

Tom hesitated for a moment before reaching across his desk and shaking Doug’s hand. “Friends,” he conceded quietly.

Doug stood up and pushed his chair against the wall. “Drinks tonight?” he asked in the hopes that everything was back to normal.

A small smile twitched at Tom’s lips. “Sure.”

Satisfied that their friendship was back on track, Doug grinned happily and returned to his paperwork.

**

Booker lay on the bed with his eyes closed, the sound of his mother’s voice prattling incessantly about the trivialities of life slowly driving him insane. She complained about the length of the plane journey, the terrible food, the hotel’s wallpaper and the L.A. traffic. On and on she chattered until he felt like screaming at her to shut the fuck up, that she was interrupting his happy thoughts in the imaginary place in his mind where he did not have to deal with everything that had happened to him. However, he remained silent in the hope that she would believe he was asleep and would finally leave him in peace. He felt more alone when she was in the room because he could not relate to her, he no longer felt like her son, in fact he did not feel like a man at all. He was a mere shadow inhabiting the body of the man he once was, the man who had been a happy, healthy and capable human being, the man who had lived his life to the fullest, the man who had died on the floor of the cage in the basement. He had not died in the physical sense of course, but in the mental sense, in the sense that his soul had been irreparably damaged by a brutal, sadistic psychopath. The Dennis Booker that had existed a week ago was gone and a ghost was all that remained. He was now nothing more than a distant memory… he was a reflection of his former self.

The sound of footsteps interrupted his thoughts and moments later he felt a gentle hand touch his arm. “Dennis, are you awake? We need to do another internal exam just to make sure everything's okay.”

He could hear his mother’s voice rising in pitch. “Can’t you just leave him alone to heal? Must you keep reminding him of his injuries?”

His eyes remained closed as he listened to the nurse explain to his mother that it was necessary that they keep checking that he was healing internally. The two women exchanged words for several minutes before his mom announced that she was going to get a cup of coffee. He again felt the warm caress of the nurse’s hand and opening his eyes, he saw a young woman smiling down at him. “Doctor Fenton will perform the exam but I’ll be right here with you,” she instructed in a soft voice and taking his hand in hers, she gently squeezed his fingers. “You just keep looking at me and it’ll soon be over.”

Heavy footsteps sounded in the corridor and Fenton strode into the room. He pulled the curtain around the bed and spoke in a brusque voice. “Roll onto your side Mr. Booker and draw your knees up to your chest.”

Dennis did as the doctor asked, his eyes never leaving the young nurse’s face. He heard the sound of a rubber glove snapping onto outstretched fingers and he bit down hard on his lower lip. When a cool, slick finger pressed against him, he flinched involuntarily and his eyes grew wide with fear as his breathing became ragged. “Relax,” the doctor instructed in a no nonsense voice and without pause, he pushed his finger inside.

Tears of pain and humiliation filled Booker’s eyes and he stifled a sob as the doctor probed him internally. “Shh,” the nurse murmured sympathetically. “It’s okay, it’ll all be over soon.” 

After what seemed to Dennis to be an eternity, the doctor finally withdrew his finger and ripping off the glove, he threw it into the trashcan under the small hand basin and addressed the nurse. “The anal tearing is healing well, so I’m recommending that he be moved to the psych ward tomorrow. I’ll write up the paperwork,” and without giving Dennis a second glance, he turned on his heal and left the room.

“Asshole,” the nurse muttered under her breath as she pulled the covers over Dennis’ naked backside. “Are you okay honey? Is there anything I can get you?”

But Dennis’ eyes were again closed and his imagination had already returned to the happy place that kept him from losing his mind completely.


	9. Masquerade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Previously: Booker lay on the bed with his eyes closed, the sound of his mother’s voice prattling incessantly about the trivialities of life slowly driving him insane. She complained about the length of the plane journey, the terrible food, the hotel’s wallpaper and the LA traffic. On and on she chattered until he felt like screaming at her to shut the fuck up, that she was interrupting his happy thoughts in the imaginary place in his mind where he did not have to deal with everything that had happened to him. However, he remained silent in the hope that she would believe he was asleep and would finally leave him in peace. He felt more alone when she was in the room because he could not relate to her, he no longer felt like her son, in fact he did not feel like a man at all. He was a mere shadow inhabiting the body of the man he once was, the man who had been a happy, healthy and capable human being, the man who had lived his life to the fullest, the man who had died on the floor of the cage in the basement. He had not died in the physical sense of course, but in the mental sense, in the sense that his soul had been irreparably damaged by a brutal, sadistic psychopath. The Dennis Booker that had existed a week ago was gone and a ghost was all that remained. He was now nothing more than a distant memory… he was a reflection of his former self._
> 
> _The sound of footsteps interrupted his thoughts and moments later he felt a gentle hand touch his arm. “Dennis, are you awake? We need to do another internal exam just to make sure everything's okay.”_
> 
> _He could hear his mother’s voice rising in pitch. “Can’t you just leave him alone to heal? Must you keep reminding him of his injuries?”_
> 
> _His eyes remained closed as he listened to the nurse explain to his mother that it was necessary that they keep checking that he was healing internally. The two women exchanged words for several minutes before his mom announced that she was going to get a cup of coffee. He again felt the warm caress of the nurse’s hand and opening his eyes, he saw a young woman smiling down at him. “Doctor Fenton will perform the exam but I’ll be right here with you,” she instructed in a soft voice and taking his hand in hers, she gently squeezed his fingers. “You just keep looking at me and it’ll soon be over.”_
> 
> _Heavy footsteps sounded in the corridor and Fenton strode into the room. He pulled the curtain around the bed and spoke in a brusque voice. “Roll onto your side Mr. Booker and draw your knees up to your chest.”_
> 
> _Dennis did as the doctor asked, his eyes never leaving the young nurse’s face. He heard the sound of a rubber glove snapping onto outstretched fingers and he bit down hard on his lower lip. When a cool, slick finger pressed against him, he flinched involuntarily and his eyes grew wide with fear as his breathing became ragged. “Relax,” the doctor instructed in a no nonsense voice and without pause, he pushed his finger inside._
> 
> _Tears of pain and humiliation filled Booker’s eyes and he stifled a sob as the doctor probed him internally. “Shh,” the nurse murmured sympathetically. “It’s okay, it’ll all be over soon.”_
> 
> _After what seemed to Dennis to be an eternity, the doctor finally withdrew his finger and ripping off the glove, he threw it into the trashcan under the small hand basin and addressed the nurse. “The anal tearing is healing well, so I’m recommending that he be moved to the psych ward tomorrow. I’ll write up the paperwork,” and without giving Dennis a second glance, he turned on his heal and left the room._
> 
> _“Asshole,” the nurse muttered under her breath as she pulled the covers over Dennis’ naked backside. “Are you okay honey? Is there anything I can get you?”_
> 
> _But Dennis’ eyes were again closed and his imagination had already returned to the happy place that kept him from losing his mind completely._

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35590684020/in/album-72157683140201352/)

**Masquerade**

_Ten weeks later_

Tom leaned forward in his chair and gave his Captain a worried look.  “Are you sure he’s fit for duty?  It’s only been a couple of months since… well, you know.”

“He’s been given the all clear by the departmental psychologist,” Fuller replied, “and I think it will be good for him to get back to work.  But it’s up to you Hanson, if you don’t want to be partnered with him—”

“No, no!” Tom replied hurriedly as he rubbed a hand over his mouth.  ‘I’m fine with it Coach, honest.  It’s just… I want to know what I’m dealing with.  I mean, what am I supposed to say to him?”

A small smile played over Fuller’s lips.  It was so like Hanson to over analyze everything.  “You don’t have to say _anything_ to him Hanson,” he counseled.  “Just treat him the same way you always have.”

Tom’s lip twitched uncomfortably and he lowered his gaze.  “Booker and I have never really treated each other with much respect Cap’n, maybe I’m not the right person to help him transition back into the job.”

Fuller stood up and walked around his desk until he was standing next to Tom.  “You’re _exactly_ the right person,” he replied quietly.  “You don’t see it but you and Booker are very alike.  If anyone can help him through this, you can.”

Tom lifted his head.  “Do you really think so?” he asked in surprise.

Fuller smiled.  “I _know_ so.”

**

_The following day_

A sudden hush fell over the Chapel and looking up from his paperwork, Tom saw Booker walking across the room with his head bowed and his eyes glued firmly to the floor.  He immediately felt a pang of pain for his colleague and he quickly returned his attention to the report he was typing.  Moments later, the steady hum of voices resumed across the operations room and he sighed with relief.  Glancing covertly sideways, he saw Dennis sitting at his desk, looking lost and uncomfortable.  Tapping his pen distractedly, he attempted to think up an excuse to go over and talk to him without looking like he was taking pity, but he came up blank.  He glanced over at Doug and catching his eye, he raised an eyebrow.  Doug returned a look filled with compassion but he had no answers for Tom and so he shrugged his shoulders in response.  

Just as Tom was becoming desperate, Adam Fuller walked out of his office.  “Booker, Hanson, I’ve got an assignment for you.”

Booker’s face registered surprise and he quickly glanced over at Tom.  He received a smile in return and for a fraction of a second, his own lips twitched up at the corners before his expression sobered and he lowered his gaze.  “Coming Cap’n,” he muttered.

The two young officers walked into Fuller’s office and remained standing as their superior closed the door before taking a seat behind his desk and addressing Dennis with a smile.  “Welcome back Booker.  We’ve missed having you here.”

Tom marveled at his Captain’s relaxed tone and he wished he possessed the same qualities.  Swallowing the nervous lump in his throat, he turned and smiled awkwardly at his colleague.  “Yeah, it’s good to have you back.”

Lowering his gaze, Booker shoved his hands deep into his pockets and shuffled uncomfortably on his feet.  “Thanks,” he mumbled, his cheeks flushing a soft pink, “it’s good to be back.”

Sensing Dennis’ discomfort, Fuller immediately got down to business and picking up two manila folders, he handed them to the two young officers.  “The case is straightforward enough.  Sporting equipment is going missing from a local high school in a poor neighborhood.  There’s a rumor that a rival school is responsible so you’ll go undercover at that school and see what you can find out.  You’ll start Monday, any questions?”

“Nope,” Tom replied as he thumbed through the paperwork, “it seems pretty simple.”

Booker opened his mouth to speak but quickly closed it again.  He remained silent for several long moments before eventually replying, “No Cap’n, like Hanson said, it seems pretty simple.”

“Good,” Fuller replied with a broad smile that highlighted his perfect white teeth, “that’s all.”  
   
Walking out into the hubbub of the main area, Tom followed Booker back to his desk and pulling up a chair, he sat down.  “So, do you want to meet up for a drink tonight so we can discuss strategy?”

Booker’s body sat rigid in his chair and his lower lip pushed into a petulant pout.  “You don’t have to pretend to be nice to me just because of what happened,” he muttered in a moody voice.  “I know you don’t like me.”

An amused smile twitched at Tom’s lips.  _If only you knew,_ he thought, but he did not voice his inner musings.  Instead, he let out a small chuckle.  “You know me better than that Booker.  Do you _really_ think I’d pretend to be nice to you just to make you feel better?”

Booker’s lips curled at the edges and he relaxed back into his chair.  “No, I guess not,” he conceded.  “But you and I both know this case is bullshit.  Fuller’s just testing me to make sure I’m okay out in the field and you drew the short straw as my babysitter.”

Tom’s eyes shone with sympathy.  “Maybe,” he replied quietly, “but not every case is catching a drug dealer or saving some kid from abu…”  He stopped before the word _abuse_ finished forming on his lips.  “Jesus Booker, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

A heavy sigh escaped Booker’s lips.  “And there it is, the quick backpedal and apology ‘cause you’re scared you might have upset me.  I don’t want your sympathy Hanson, I want you to treat me the way you always have.”

A smile spread over Tom’s face.  “So what you’re saying is, you want me to treat you with scorn and indifference, is that it?” he teased.

Dennis managed a small laugh.  “Yeah okay, I get your point.  But I mean it Hanson, I don’t want you treating me like I’m fragile, ‘cause I’m not, I’m fine.  I’ve put everything that happened behind me and I’m moving on.”

Tom stood up.  “Sure,” he replied, not quite believing Booker’s words but not willing to start an argument.  “So we’ll meet at the BoHo at seven?”

Booker nodded in agreement but as Hanson started to walk away, he called him back.  “Tommy?”

Hanson turned around in surprise.  Booker never called him Tommy and he felt a stirring in his groin.  “What is it Dennis?” he asked quietly.

Booker glanced around the room and when he was certain that they could not be overheard, his eyes filled with gratitude and he rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck.  “Thanks for finding me,” he murmured.

Tom’s expression softened and his eyes shone with emotion.  “You’re welcome.”

**

The Friday night crowd were out in force and the BoHo was packed with noisy twenty-somethings letting their hair down after a busy working week.  Tom pushed his way through the mass of well-dressed young professionals, being careful not to spill any beer from the pitcher in his hand.  He climbed up the staircase to the quieter lounge area and he quickly spotted Booker sitting in a corner booth, a cigarette dangling from his lips.  He strode over, placed the jug and glasses on the table and shrugging out of his jacket, he threw it onto the leather seat and sat down.  Booker filled their glasses and after handing one to Tom, he raised his in salute.  “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Tom repeated before taking a large gulp of beer.  He sighed contentedly as the cool liquid slid down his throat and slouching in his seat, he stuck his legs out in front of him and relaxed back against the comfort of the cushions.  “Fuck that’s good,” he breathed.

Booker flashed him a smile.  “Tough week?”

Tom’s relaxed expression became strained and he took another swig of his drink.  “Tough few months,” he replied quietly.  “Sleep doesn’t come as easy as it used to.”

They were not the words Booker expected to hear and for the first time since joining the Jump Street program, he actually felt as though he belonged, that someone really cared about him.  Tom’s compassion touched his heart and he felt himself warming to the man he had taken an almost instant dislike to since their disastrous first case together.  Stubbing out his cigarette, he exhaled the final lungful of smoke and stared down at the table.  “Yeah,” he muttered as he continued to grind the butt into the glass ashtray, “not exactly the best few months for me either.”

Tom suddenly felt like an ass and reaching out, he laid his hand on Booker’s wrist.  “Sorry,” he apologized, “that was stupid.  You’ve been through hell and here I am complaining ‘cause I’m suffering from a bout of insomnia.”

Once again, Dennis was surprised at the level of Tom’s empathy.  He never would have believed that his rape could have affected Hanson so profoundly and yet when he looked deep into the brown eyes gazing at him from across the table, he could see how tortured he really was by what he had witnessed in the basement of Conan’s house.  Tom was not the one-dimensional _pretty_ _boy_ that he had pegged him for and he suddenly understood what Penhall saw in him.  He was actually deeply empathetic but because he was private with his feelings, he often came across as indifferent to the suffering of those around him.  It was a revelation for Booker and he found himself liking Hanson even more _because_ of his faults and not in spite of them.  Tom was actually more like him than he realized and he began to wonder if they really could be friends.

Pulling his thoughts back to the present, he became aware that Tom was studying him quizzically and he grinned in embarrassment.  “Sorry, I guess my mind wandered off for a moment.”

Tom let go of Dennis’ wrist and topped up their glasses.  He really wanted Booker to confide in him, to tell him how he was feeling so he could help him through the tough days ahead.  However, he was wary of coming on too strong too soon.  They had barely uttered a word outside of work and he knew very little about the man sitting in front of him but he hoped that with time, all that would change.  Even though he knew he would never hold Dennis in his arms and love him in the way that he so desperately yearned, since the kidnapping, he knew that he _did_ want him in his life, just as he had Doug in his life.  He wanted that friendship, that closeness but most importantly, he wanted to be there to help him to come to terms with all that had happened.  He wanted to be his rock.

Picking up one of the cardboard coasters advertising various lagers, he nervously began to rip at the soggy edges.  Several minutes passed in an uncomfortable silence before Dennis pulled the tattered coaster out of his hand and threw it onto the table.  “If you want to ask, just ask,” he sanctioned with a sigh.  “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

Heat flushed Tom’s cheeks and he rubbed a nervous hand over his mouth.  “I don’t want to pry,” he muttered.

Booker drained his glass and pushed it to one side.  “I’m okay Hanson, I’ve come to terms with what happened to me and I’ll be damned if I’ll let that sonofabitch ruin my life anymore than he already has.  I’m still seeing my shrink so you don’t have to worry, I’m not about to go crazy on you.”

Tom’s lip twitched nervously at the corner.  “I didn’t mean…”

“I know you didn’t,” Booker replied quickly.  “But I just wanted to get it out in the open, especially if we’re going to be working together.  I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, because I doubt it was your choice to be partnered with me in the first place.”

Once again, the words _if only you knew,_ popped into Tom’s mind and he suppressed a smile.  So far, his meeting with Booker was going well and he hoped that in time, they would become more comfortable in each other’s presence and their friendship would begin to blossom.

**

Arriving back at his apartment, Dennis closed the door and tossed his keys into the bowl on the adjacent bookcase.  Walking into his small kitchenette, he pulled out a beer and picked up the vial of Xanax he had procured from an immoral doctor who was happy to prescribe prescription drugs as long as money exchanged hands.  Shaking two .5mg pills into his hand, he swallowed them down with a swig of beer.  He knew he was walking a treacherous tight rope, alprazolam mixed with alcohol was a dangerous combination and adding the cocaine he had purchased from a dealer the day before could put his life at risk.  But he did not care.  He had managed to put up a convincing front for his psychologist, Fuller and Hanson but in reality, he was on a knife’s edge.  Conan’s face haunted his dreams, taunting him, whispering at him, telling him that he would find him and when he did, he would never let him go… never.  That, coupled with the confusion of his actions during the time the deranged psychopath had held him captive, had him teetering on the edge of a complete breakdown.  He had succumbed to his rapist, but what was most disturbing were the conflicting feelings he had felt.  His body had reacted to the sexual stimulation and his orgasms had been some of the most explosive he had ever experienced.  Of course, he had revealed none of this to his therapist; he was too smart for that.  Instead, he told the people around him what they wanted to hear; he was fine, he was still seeking help and with time, he would recover.  That was his mantra and so far, everyone believed him, including the one person he had never expected to fool… Tom.

Chugging down his beer, he threw the empty bottle into the trash and pulling his t-shirt over his head, he walked into his bedroom.  The effects of the Xanax were starting to take hold and kicking off his boots, he finished undressing and pulling back the blanket, he climbed under the covers where his mind once again returned to Tom.  He had been surprised at the young officer's friendliness but he was also extremely grateful for it.  Tom had been his savior and the one person who did not seem to shy away from him, even after the horror he had witnessed in the basement, and he admired him for that.  Not many men would be able to look him in the eye after seeing what Tom had seen.  It was comforting but also a little unnerving.  Hanson was the last person he ever expected to offer him the hand of friendship but now that he had, he hoped that their bond would continue to grow.  He missed having close friends, he had left most of them behind when he had moved to California to become a police officer and he had never really connected with anyone since then.  But it looked like all that was about to change and for that, he was truly thankful.

His eyelids grew heavy and relaxing his body against the mattress, he let out a sigh.  He could feel the drugs taking over his weary mind and closing his eyes, he prayed that Conan’s face would not disturb his dreams and that he would finally get a decent night's sleep.  



	10. Shadowlands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter was extremely difficult to write and I almost did not post it. However, after weighing up the pros and cons, I decided that this had always been one of the intended twists of the story and therefore, I would stick to my original plot. Please forgive me for what is about to take place...**
> 
> **In peace,**   
>  **OpenPage x**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Previously: Arriving back at his apartment, Dennis closed the door and tossed his keys into the bowl on the adjacent bookcase. Walking into his small kitchenette, he pulled out a beer and picked up the vial of Xanax he had procured from an immoral doctor who was happy to prescribe prescription drugs as long as money exchanged hands. Shaking two .5mg pills into his hand, he swallowed them down with a swig of beer. He knew he was walking a treacherous tight rope, alprazolam mixed with alcohol was a dangerous combination and adding the cocaine he had purchased from a dealer the day before could put his life at risk. But he did not care. He had managed to put up a convincing front for his psychologist, Fuller and Hanson but in reality, he was on a knife’s edge. Conan’s face haunted his dreams, taunting him, whispering at him, telling him that he would find him and when he did, he would never let him go… never. That, coupled with the confusion of his actions during the time the deranged psychopath had held him captive, had him teetering on the edge of a complete breakdown. He had succumbed to his rapist, but what was most disturbing were the conflicting feelings he had felt. His body had reacted to the sexual stimulation and his orgasms had been some of the most explosive he had ever experienced. Of course, he had revealed none of this to his therapist; he was too smart for that. Instead, he told the people around him what they wanted to hear; he was fine, he was still seeking help and with time, he would recover. That was his mantra and so far, everyone believed him, including the one person he had never expected to fool… Tom._
> 
> _Chugging down his beer, he threw the empty bottle into the trash and pulling his t-shirt over his head, he walked into his bedroom. The effects of the Xanax were starting to take hold and kicking off his boots, he finished undressing and pulling back the blanket, he climbed under the covers where his mind once again returned to Tom. He had been surprised at the young officer's friendliness but he was also extremely grateful for it. Tom had been his savior and the one person who did not seem to shy away from him, even after the horror he had witnessed in the basement, and he admired him for that. Not many men would be able to look him in the eye after seeing what Tom had seen. It was comforting but also a little unnerving. Hanson was the last person he ever expected to offer him the hand of friendship but now that he had, he hoped that their bond would continue to grow. He missed having close friends, he had left most of them behind when he had moved to California to become a police officer and he had never really connected with anyone since then. But it looked like all that was about to change and for that, he was truly thankful._
> 
> _His eyelids grew heavy and relaxing his body against the mattress, he let out a sigh. He could feel the drugs taking over his weary mind and closing his eyes, he prayed that Conan’s face would not disturb his dreams and that he would finally get a decent night's sleep._

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35979743835/in/album-72157683140201352/)

**Shadowlands**

_Two weeks later_

The piercing sound of his alarm clock jarred Booker from a fitful sleep and rolling over, he angrily slammed his palm down on the offending object.  He had not had a peaceful night’s sleep and he felt exhausted from the nightmares that had constantly plagued his mind throughout the night.  The cocktail of drugs and alcohol he used to numb his mind were taking their toll and he was close to breaking point.  However, despite all of this, he still managed to keep his erratic state of mind hidden from those around him.  He was the consummate actor, the skilled performer whose talented lies fooled everyone, even Tom.  But at night, when he was alone in his apartment drinking whiskey by the bottle, the façade crumbled and his emotions spewed forth.  Fist-sized holes now dotted his walls and his knuckles were bloodied and bruised.  He had managed to convince Tom that he had taken up boxing for self-defense and that they often sparred without gloves.  The lies rolled off his tongue as easily as honey off a spoon and he no longer felt bad at deceiving his new friend.  It was self-preservation, nothing more and he meant no harm by it.  By convincing Tom that everything was okay, he was also convincing himself and therefore, he did not have to deal with the unsettling truth that he was slowly losing his mind.

Pushing down the covers, he ran his fingers over his flaccid cock.  Since the rapes, he had been unable to achieve an erection but every morning and every night, he tried desperately to tease his cock to life.  He spent hours tugging at his shaft until it hurt, but all to no avail, his cock remained stubbornly limp.  He watched porn, he bought girlie magazines but nothing helped.  Throughout all the visual and physical stimulation, his cock stayed unresponsive.

Closing his eyes, he imagined a beautiful woman’s lips sucking him off as he trailed his fingertips over the sensitive cockhead.  When minutes ticked slowly past and he was still soft, he could feel his frustration mounting and with a yell, he picked up his alarm clock and threw it against the wall.  The timepiece shattered on impact and tiny springs and gears scattered across the floor.  His heart hammered painfully in his chest and sitting up, he stared at the broken pieces as though mesmerized.  Seconds turned into minutes and finally he shook his head and climbed calmly from the bed.  At least now, he was free from the annoying sound of the alarm bell.

**

Tom ran from his apartment building and yanking open the passenger door of Booker’s Cadillac, he clambered into the car and slammed the door closed.  “It’s pissing it down out there,” he laughed as he ran his fingers through his rain-soaked hair.

Booker grinned back.  He had snorted a few lines of cocaine before work and he felt on top of the world.  “You look like a drowned rat,” he joked.

“Laugh it up buddy,” Tom quipped back.  “You’ll be just as soaked as me in a few minutes.”

Switching the key in the ignition, Booker pulled out from the curb.  “So we give the principal all the information we’ve gathered and then it’s case closed,” he muttered somewhat despondently.

Hearing the dejected tone in Dennis’ voice, Tom turned to face him and offered a smile.  “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean we can’t hang out.  We’ve become pretty close over the last few weeks and I want our friendship to continue.”

Turning his head, Booker’s expression suddenly turned shy.  “Do you mean that?” he asked quietly.

Tom’s laughter echoed throughout the car.  “Of course I do, you idiot.  Jesus Dennis, lighten up!  This boring assignment is almost over and you passed with flying colors.  Just imagine the fun we’re gonna have when we’re working on a _real_ case together.”

The corners of Booker’s lips twitched into a smile.  “Yeah, I s’pose.”

“There’s no supposin’ about it,” Tom replied happily.  “We make an awesome team.”

At Tom’s words, Booker’s jubilant mood immediately returned and his smile widened as he drove towards Ridgemont High.

**

By the time the two young officers returned to Booker’s Cadillac, they were soaked through to the skin from the unseasonal torrential rain pouring from the leaden sky.  Slamming closed the car door, Tom shook his head violently, spraying tiny droplets of water over the black interior.  “Hey!  Watch it!” Booker shouted in mock disapproval.

“Yeah right,” Tom grinned, “like you could get any wetter.”

Dennis started the car before turning towards Tom.  “So, I guess I’ll drop you off and then meet you back at the Chapel?”

Tom pushed his wet hair back from his face.  “Or… you could come to my place and I’ll chuck your clothes in the dryer.  There’s no hurry to get back to work, Fuller’s not expecting us until after lunch.”

Booker shrugged his shoulders.  “Sure, why not.”

As they drove the short distance to his apartment, Tom began to have second thoughts about inviting Dennis into his home.  The thought of the toned young officer stripping off his wet clothes sent a shiver of anticipation through his groin and his cock twitched to life.  Clenching his hands into tight fists, he attempted to push the erotic thought away but his mind was weak and the image stubbornly remained.  By the time they pulled into the underground car park of his building, his cock was straining against the confines of his jeans and his heart was pumping excitedly.  Jumping from the car, he ran towards the staircase, leaving Booker to follow several feet behind him.

When he reached his apartment, he had managed to calm himself and opening the door, he stepped back and let Dennis enter.  Closing the door behind them, he headed towards his bedroom.  “Get out of those clothes,” he yelled over his shoulder, “and I’ll get you a towel.”

Once in the sanctuary of his own room, he took a moment before stripping down to his boxers.  He padded into the bathroom and grabbed two towels before returning to the bedroom and picking up his discarded clothes.  Wandering out into the living area, he stopped when he saw Dennis standing in the middle of the room dressed only in his underwear.    

The sight of Booker’s perfectly toned body had Tom mesmerized and tossing his wet clothes onto the floor, he walked over and handed him a towel.  Overwhelmed by the vision before him, he reached out a hand and brushed a wet strand of hair from Dennis’ eyes.  “God you’re beautiful,” he murmured.

At the sight of Tom’s erection tenting his boxers, Booker’s dark eyes widened in shock.  Without warning, he thrust both hands against Tom’s naked chest and shoved him violently against the wall.  “You tricked me!  You tricked me you fucking sonofabitch!  You’re a fag!  You’re a fucking fag!” he yelled, his full lips pulled back in an angry snarl.  

Holding his hands out in front of him, Tom desperately tried to defuse the situation.  “Dennis calm down, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Didn’t mean to what?  _Play_ me?” Booker screamed, his dark eyes flashing dangerously.  “Did you pretend to be my friend so you could _fuck_ me?  You faggot!  You fucking _faggot!”_

“No!  That’s not what—” but Booker’s fist slamming into his jaw cut off Tom’s words and he crumpled to the ground.  Before he could get to his feet, Dennis stomped a foot down on his genitals, forcing the wind out of him in a loud _OOMPH_.  Tears streamed down his face and curling into a ball, he attempted to protect himself from the angry onslaught of blows raining down on him.  Several kicks landed against his head, disorientating him and blurring his vision.  The attack was vicious and unrelenting and he began to wonder if he would make it through alive.

The assault lasted several minutes and when it finally stopped, Tom attempted to heave his battered body towards the door but a strong hand reached out and within seconds, he was in a headlock and he could feel Dennis’ warm breath against his cheek.  “Going somewhere _faggot?_    Stick around, I’m gonna teach you a lesson.”

As Dennis’ forearm crushed his windpipe, Tom struggled to breathe and his eyes bulged with fear.  “Den-nis,” he choked as his hands frantically gripped at Booker’s arm.  “I… can’t… breathe!”

“You don’t have to breathe,” Booker murmured and hauling Tom to his feet, he dragged him into the bedroom and threw him face down onto the bed.  “You just have to lie there and look beautiful.”

The words chilled Tom to his bones and it was then that he knew Dennis had completely lost his mind.  He tried to scramble away but a large hand seized both his wrists and held them above his head.  His legs hung off the edge of the mattress and he could feel Booker’s weight crushing against him.  He struggled to break free but he was dazed from the blows to his head and he was powerless against Booker’s physical strength.  When a hand yanked down his boxers, he froze in fear before becoming hysterical.  “NO!  NO!  NO!” he screamed and his body thrashed wildly, desperately trying to break free.  “DENNIS DON’T!  _DON’T!”_

But his distressed pleas made no impact, Dennis’ mind had snapped and he was in a state of psychosis.  He sobbed uncontrollably as his legs were kicked open and he felt a hardness pressing against him.  Seconds later, his body erupted in pain as Booker shoved his erect cock deep into his unprepared anus.

“DENNIS DON’T!  PLEASE DENNIS STOP!  STOP! YOU’RE HURTING ME!  YOU’RE _HURTING_ ME!” Tom screamed, his dark eyes bulging with terror.

As though in a trance, Dennis continued to thrust his cock deep inside Tom’s body, the thrill of finally having an erection overwhelming his senses.  “Don’t you like that baby doll?” he murmured, his intonation imitating Conan’s own maniacal crooning.  “Don’t you wanna make Daddy happy?”

Snot bubbled from Tom’s nose and mixed with the tears soaking through the bed sheet.  He stopped screaming and stared mindlessly at the wall, willing the assault to be over, willing his body not to react… and it didn’t.  His cock remained flaccid throughout; even when Dennis’ slammed against his prostate, he felt nothing.  His mind was shocked into numbness and his body traumatized.  Minutes passed and the only sound resonating in his ears was Dennis’ soft grunting.  Then a strangled cry cut through the air… and it was over.

When Dennis withdrew from his body, Tom fell to the floor and crawling into a corner, he drew his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms protectively around them.  His body shook uncontrollably and he stared blankly out in front of him, his eyes devoid of any emotion.

Dennis stood in the middle of the room with his mouth gaping open.  When he looked down and saw his cock coated with Tom’s blood, his eyes grew wide with shock.  “Oh God,” he moaned and he began to pace back and forth across the room, his agitation mounting as he raked his fingers frantically through his hair.  “Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God _OH_ _GOD!”_   With every step, the pitch of his voice rose higher until he was screaming at the horror of what he had done.  “I DIDN’T MEAN IT!  I DIDN’T MEAN IT!  I DIDN’T MEAN IT!”

Tom put his hands over his ears to block out the sound of Booker’s hysterical shrieking.  He had no idea how long he remained oblivious to his surroundings but eventually, the urgent _eeeoooeeeoooeeeooo_ of a siren pulled him back to reality and lifting his head, he saw that he was alone.  Minutes later, he heard the sound of heavy footsteps outside his bedroom door and he shrank against the wall in fear until an unfamiliar male voice called out.  “Paramedics.  Is anybody there?” 

Tears filled Tom’s eyes and he managed to croak, “In here,” before passing out.

**

Tom had the unnerving feeling that someone was watching him and opening his eyes, he looked around in confusion until his gaze settled on Penhall’s terrified face peeking through the white hospital curtain.   “Doug,” he muttered in a throaty voice but before he could say anything more, he burst into tears.

“Oh God Tommy,” Doug whispered and entering the small cubicle, he sat on the bed and gathering his friend in his arms, he held him close.  

Welcoming the safety of Doug’s embrace, Tom leaned into him and sobbed against his broad chest.  “Shh,” Penhall murmured as he clumsily stroked his matted hair.  “It’s okay, we’ll get the sonofabitch who did this to you.”

Tom lifted his head and gazed into Doug’s eyes.  “You don’t… _know_ … who did it?” he hiccupped between sobs.

Doug’s expression became quizzical and his voice sounded strained.  “No, all we know is that they called for an ambulance before leaving.  Why?  Do _you_ know who it was?  For God’s sake Tom, if you know then you have to tell me!”

For the briefest of moments, Tom considered telling his friend the truth but as quickly as the thought popped into his mind, it disappeared like a feather in the wind.  “No,” he lied.  “I answered the door and he forced his way inside.  I’d never seen him before.”

“Jesus,” Penhall muttered and rubbing a nervous hand through his hair, he asked Tom what was foremost on his mind, the thing he had refused to accept since receiving the phone call from the hospital.  “Um, the doctor said… oh Jesus Tom, he said you were raped.”

Once again, tears began to flow from Tom’s tortured eyes and Penhall immediately knew it was true.  “Oh Tommy, I’m so fucking sorry,” but as Tom’s tears continued to soak through his t-shirt, his voice changed from soothing to ice cold.  “Don’t worry Tommy,” he muttered through clenched teeth.  “I’ll find the sonofabitch who did this and when I do, I’ll fucking kill him.”

A shiver of fear ran down Tom’s spine and he knew he needed to be very careful about the information he disclosed to his partner.  He had no doubt in his mind that if Doug ever found out that Booker was responsible, he _would_ kill him and regardless of everything that had happened, Tom did not want him harmed.  It was obvious that Dennis was mentally unstable and in need of treatment and he wanted to be the one to help him fight his demons.  Even after all the pain and suffering of the rape, he still loved him and wanted him in his life and therefore, he meant to protect him in any way he could and if that meant lying to Doug, then so be it.

Closing his eyes, he allowed Penhall’s protective embrace to calm his nerves and minutes later, he was asleep.  



	11. Regrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Previously: Tom had the unnerving feeling that someone was watching him and opening his eyes, he looked around in confusion until his gaze settled on Penhall’s terrified face peeking through the white hospital curtain. “Doug,” he muttered in a throaty voice but before he could say anything more, he burst into tears._
> 
> _“Oh God Tommy,” Doug whispered and entering the small cubicle, he sat on the bed and gathering his friend in his arms, he held him close._
> 
> _Welcoming the safety of Doug’s embrace, Tom leaned into him and sobbed against his broad chest. “Shh,” Penhall murmured as he clumsily stroked his matted hair. “It’s okay, we’ll get the sonofabitch who did this to you.”_
> 
> _Tom lifted his head and gazed into Doug’s eyes. “You don’t… know… who did it?” he hiccupped between sobs._
> 
> _Doug’s expression became quizzical and his voice sounded strained. “No, all we know is that they called for an ambulance before leaving. Why? Do you know who it was? For God’s sake Tom, if you know then you have to tell me!”_
> 
> _For the briefest of moments, Tom considered telling his friend the truth but as quickly as the thought popped into his mind, it disappeared like a feather in the wind. “No,” he lied. “I answered the door and he forced his way inside. I’d never seen him before.”_
> 
> _“Jesus,” Penhall muttered and rubbing a nervous hand through his hair, he asked Tom what was foremost on his mind, the thing he had refused to accept since receiving the phone call from the hospital. “Um, the doctor said… oh Jesus Tom, he said you were raped.”_
> 
> _Once again, tears began to flow from Tom’s tortured eyes and Penhall immediately knew it was true. “Oh Tommy, I’m so fucking sorry,” but as Tom’s tears continued to soak through his t-shirt, his voice changed from soothing to ice cold. “Don’t worry Tommy,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “I’ll find the sonofabitch who did this and when I do, I’ll fucking kill him.”_
> 
> _A shiver of fear ran down Tom’s spine and he knew he needed to be very careful about the information he disclosed to his partner. He had no doubt in his mind that if Doug ever found out that Booker was responsible, he would kill him and regardless of everything that had happened, Tom did not want him harmed. It was obvious that Dennis was mentally unstable and in need of treatment and he wanted to be the one to help him fight his demons. Even after all the pain and suffering of the rape, he still loved him and wanted him in his life and therefore, he meant to protect him in any way he could and if that meant lying to Doug, then so be it._
> 
> _Closing his eyes, he allowed Penhall’s protective embrace to calm his nerves and minutes later, he was asleep.  
> _

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35590683820/in/album-72157683140201352/)

**Regrets**  

When Tom awoke, he found himself in a brightly lit private room.  He did not remember moving from the ER but he figured he must have changed beds at some point.  The medication he had been given had not only helped to numb the pain in his body, it had also made him sleepy.  But now, two hours later, the medication was wearing off and his body screamed with pain, both internally and externally.  Tears filled his eyes and struggling to a sitting position, his fingers frantically searched the bed until he located the nurse call button.  As the pain intensified, he began to sob and holding the button in his hand, he pressed it several times, praying that a nurse would arrive without too much delay.

Several minutes passed before a middle-aged nurse entered his room.  When she saw the tears streaming down his face, she hurried forward and placed a warm palm against his forehead.  “Are you in pain sweetheart?” she asked in a soft voice.

Tom’s head nodded rapidly up and down as he gasped for breath.  The nurse gently stroked his hair as she checked his pulse.  “Okay sweetie, calm down and I’ll get you something to make you feel better.”

She quickly disappeared and Tom lay on the bed sobbing quietly.  Moments later, she reappeared and injected the pain medication directly into the cannula inserted in his arm.  “There you go honey, the medication will start to work in a couple of minutes.  Can I get you anything else?  Are you hungry?”

Shaking his head, Tom suddenly became aware that the bed sheet beneath him was wet and his cheeks burned with embarrassment.  “I think I wet the bed,” he whispered.

The nurse pulled back the covers and inspected the sheet.  “It’s okay sweetheart,” she reassured him, “you didn’t wet the bed.  It’s just a little blood from your injuries.  A doctor will be in soon to give you an internal exam and do a rape kit.  We would have done is sooner but we’ve been swamped and—”

“No,” Tom muttered through clenched teeth.  “I don’t want to.”

The nurse’s eyes shone with sympathy.  “There’s nothing to be afraid of, I’ll be right here with you—”

Tom turned his head away and stared defiantly out of the window.  “I said I _don’t_ want to.”

Moving around to Tom’s line of vision, the nurse sat on the bed and took his hand in hers.  “Why?” she asked gently.

An image of Booker’s face flashed into Tom’s mind and his lower lip started to quiver.  “Because he didn’t mean to do it,” he whispered.

When it slowly dawned on Nurse Allman what he meant, her eyes grew wide.  “You _know_ the person who did this to you?  Tom, you have to tell the police!” 

“ _I’m_ the police,” Tom muttered stubbornly, “and I know what I’m doing.”

At the sound of someone intentionally clearing their throat, Tom turned his head and saw Penhall standing in the doorway, his arms filled with magazines, chocolates and various fruits.  Understanding their need for privacy, Nurse Allman stood up and gave Tom a measured stare.  “You _really_ need to think about what you’re doing,” she instructed in a firm but gentle voice, “because this could affect you for the rest of your life.”

When she exited the room, Doug raised a quizzical eyebrow.  “What was that about?”

“Nothing,” Tom replied quietly and desperate to change the conversation, his eyes motioned towards the goodies in Doug’s arms.  “Rob a convenience store did we?” 

Doug smiled his lopsided smile and walking into the room, he dumped the supplies onto the bed.  “I panicked.”

“No shit,” Tom murmured and as he felt the effects of the drug taking hold, he relaxed back against the pillow with a sigh and closed his eyes.  “Thanks.”

Penhall’s eyes softened as he gazed down at Tom’s battered face.  “You’re welcome buddy.”

**

Booker’s leg jigged nervously but inside he felt confident and in control.  He knew what he had to do, he had to pay for his sins and there was only one man who could help him find redemption.  But to find that man, he needed help and that was why he was sitting in the visitors’ room in the local county jail, waiting to see the monster that had irreparably changed his life.

Mike Ferris walked into the room wearing an orange jumpsuit and with his wrists handcuffed in front of him.  He smirked when he noticed Dennis’ dilated pupils.  “Tut, tut Officer Booker.  It appears you’ve developed a bit of a habit.”

Staring at Ferris, Booker felt none of the fear or loathing that he would have felt if he did not have copious amounts of cocaine coursing through his body.  Leaning across the table, he spoke in a calm voice, “I need your help.”

Ferris’ thin lips curled at the edges.  “Oh this is gonna be good.”

**

Opening his eyes, Tom was surprised to see Doug still sitting at his bedside.  “What time is it?”

Penhall checked his watch.  “A little after three in the afternoon.  How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” Tom sighed as he struggled into a sitting position.

“Well that’s not surprising,” Doug replied.  “You’ve got broken ribs and your body is covered in—”

“Okay Doug, I don’t need a blow by blow description,” Tom muttered irritably.  “I know what happened to me.”

Penhall’s eyes filled with sadness.  “Sorry,” he replied quietly.  “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Exhaling heavily, Tom managed a small smile.  “You didn’t.  I’m just feeling crappy, that’s all and I don’t want to talk about what happened.”

Doug’s expression became apologetic.  “Then you’re probably not going to like what I have to say.  The doctor came in when you were asleep and he’s coming back to do a rape kit.”

Tom’s eyes darkened and he shook his head violently back and forth.  “No way.  I told that nurse, I’m not doing it.”

“ _What?”_ Doug exclaimed.  “Tom you have to!  You know better than anyone how important it is to—”

“I DON’T CARE!” Tom yelled and Doug recoiled in surprise.  “I’M NOT DOING IT!”

Laying a hand on Tom’s arm, Doug attempted to calm his friend.  “Okay buddy, okay,” he soothed, “you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Tears filled Tom’s eyes and he stifled a sob.  “Don’t you understand?  I just want to forget it ever happened.”

Penhall _did_ understand but he was also desperate to catch the bastard who had hurt his beloved Tom and the only way they could do that was with DNA evidence.  However, as a police officer, he had witnessed victims' reactions close up and he knew the way Tom was feeling was not an uncommon reaction, especially for men.  Many chose not to report their rapes, effectively leaving the predator free to commit more crimes.  He knew how stubborn Tom could be and if he did not want to do something, no one could talk him into it.  It was a difficult situation because as much as he wanted the rapist caught, he had to respect his friend’s wishes and therefore, he made the decision not to push.

Smiling down at Tom’s pale face, he nodded his head.  “Yeah I do and I’ll support you, whatever you decide.”

Tom let out a relieved sigh and gazing up at Doug, he chewed nervously on his lower lip.  “Can I ask a favor?”

“Sure,” Doug replied cheerfully, grateful for the change of conversation.  “What do you need?”

Tom’s dark eyes softened.  “I want you to give Booker a message.”

**

Booker’s hands gripped tightly at the steering wheel of his Cadillac as he drove down the narrow road that led to a secluded cabin deep within the Angeles National Forest.  Sweat beaded on his brow and he wished he had snorted a line before he had made the journey.  He felt calmer when he was stoned and he was able to block out the memory of Tom’s high-pitched screams that continuously plagued his mind; screams that had him covering his ears and banging his head in anguish as he attempted to rid himself of the terrible sound that echoed in his brain.  He needed to find peace, or he would eventually go mad with grief and so he had made a decision.  The only way he knew how to rid himself of the screaming in his head was to atone and who better to wield the whip than _Daddy_.

Pulling up outside the rustic cabin, he felt a sense of calm wash over him and stepping out of the vehicle, he slammed the door closed and climbed the steps up to the narrow porch that ran the length of the small lodge.  Before he had time to knock, the front door opened and Conan’s hulking frame loomed in the entrance way.  “Baby doll,” he greeted and a wicked grin played over his lips.  “What a surprise.”

**

Tom lay in his bed listening to the sounds of the hospital as the patients settled down for the night.  Penhall had left an hour before with a sealed envelope in his hand, an envelope that contained a single piece of paper and on that piece of paper were written two words, _I’m sorry._

When the doctor returned, he had defiantly refused to do a rape kit.  The doctor had not taken the news well and had berated him to the point of being rude but when Tom remained resolute, he stormed from the room muttering obscenities under his breath.  It was only then that a nurse had allowed him to shower and as he stood under the warm, soothing water, he had sobbed uncontrollably at the memory of the assault and rape.  His slender body was a mass of red contusions and blood seeped from his damaged anus, trickling down his legs and mixing with the water before swirling down the drain and into L.A.’s sewerage system.  

At the memory, a single tear trickled down his cheek and turning over, he stared out at the majestic oak tree illuminated by the streetlight outside his window.  He felt responsible for Booker’s breakdown and he had no idea what insanity had made him utter the cataclysmic words, _God you’re beautiful._   It was mind blowing to think that three small words could have changed both their lives in such a dramatic way and he suddenly remembered a quote that had been taught to him by his mother, _handle them carefully, for words have more power than atom bombs._   His words had shattered his and Dennis' lives as effectively as a bomb dropped on a building.  They had been blown apart both physically and emotionally because he had dared to express his feelings, his _homosexual_ feelings, to a man who had only recently been the victim of several brutal rapes.  That he could have been so stupid still stunned him but he knew he had only uttered those fateful words because he felt them so deeply, so _profoundly_ within every fiber of his being.  To him, Dennis was the most beautiful man he had ever met but he wished with all his heart that he had kept his thoughts to himself, because if he had, there would be no pain, there would be no misery and there would be no regrets. 

Closing his eyes, he sobbed quietly into his pillow and prayed to a God he did not believe in for Dennis to find it within his heart to forgive him.

**

Penhall had driven to the Chapel in search of Booker but Fuller had advised him that he had not returned to work.   He had then gone to Booker’s apartment but no one answered his frantic knocking and as he stood staring at the door, a cold shiver ran down his spine.  It did not seem to be a coincidence that both Dennis and Tom had been raped within a few months of each other and he suddenly wondered if the same perpetrator had committed both crimes.  If Maurice Keppler, aka Conan, had been stalking Booker, he would have also seen Tom and he might have decided that he was too beautiful to pass up.  Although strictly heterosexual, Penhall could understand Tom’s allure.  He was extremely pretty for a man, unusually so and it was not uncommon for beautiful women to fawn over him, all of them vying for his attention.  However, even knowing this fact, he had never been jealous of Tom’s looks.  Hanson never lapped up the attention, if anything, he seemed to shy away from it.  Also, Tom was his best friend, he loved him like a brother and he knew in his heart that there was not a woman on the planet who could come between them.  Their bond was too strong and he was certain it would last a lifetime. 

With a heavy sigh, he slipped the sealed envelope under the door and turning away, he hurried down the long hallway towards the exit.  He had a bad feeling in his gut and for his own peace of mind, he needed to discuss his fears with Fuller as quickly as possible.  


 


	12. The End of What Was and the Beginning of What Will Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **It has been pointed out to me that my portrayal of Penhall's character is inaccurate due to his perceived homophobic remarks regarding Dennis' rape. Therefore, I would like to state the following in defense of what I have written in previous chapters and what you are about to read in this chapter.**
> 
> **Doug's comment about how Booker must be feeling after the rape wasn't homophobic, it was just his clumsy way of trying to explain how HE would feel if it had happened to him. Then there is Tom's preconceived idea about how Penhall will react to his secret if he ever finds out. It is his belief that Doug would be appalled, but he doesn't know that for certain and his reaction (calling Doug homophobic) was an OVERREACTION given that Doug didn't really say anything more than what most straight men would be thinking.**
> 
> **Finally, Tom has kept a huge secret from his best friend and when Doug eventually does finds out, it would be only natural for his reaction to be disbelief, followed by denial, hurt and anger. But that doesn't mean he wouldn't support Tom. Penhall is fiercely loyal and I like to think that once he had time to get everything straight in his head, he would accept Tom's homosexuality without bias and be his biggest supporter, thereby defending him against any bigots.**
> 
> **So there it is in a nutshell. I'm sorry if any of you believe I have done an injustice to Penhall's character, but this is how the story played out in my head and therefore, to remain true to myself, this is how I have written it. I adore Penhall but I believe he is far more emotional than the character that was portrayed on the TV series. Also, if we are talking about realism, best friends DO sometimes let each other down and they aren't always as supportive as they should be.**
> 
> **I hope my explanation has cleared up any misunderstandings and that this next chapter will help to set the record straight.**
> 
> **In peace  
>  OpenPage x**
> 
> _Previously: Penhall had driven to the Chapel in search of Booker but Fuller had advised him that he had not returned to work.   He had then gone to Booker’s apartment but no one answered his frantic knocking and as he stood staring at the door, a cold shiver ran down his spine.  It did not seem to be a coincidence that both Dennis and Tom had been raped within a few months of each other and he suddenly wondered if the same perpetrator had committed both crimes.  If Maurice Keppler, aka Conan, had been stalking Booker, he would have also seen Tom and he might have decided that he was too beautiful to pass up.  Although strictly heterosexual, Penhall could understand Tom’s allure.  He was extremely pretty for a man, unusually so and it was not uncommon for beautiful women to fawn over him, all of them vying for his attention.  However, even knowing this fact, he had never been jealous of Tom’s looks.  Hanson never lapped up the attention, if anything, he seemed to shy away from it.  Also, Tom was his best friend, he loved him like a brother and he knew in his heart that there was not a woman on the planet who could come between them.  Their bond was too strong and he was certain it would last a lifetime._
> 
> _With a heavy sigh, he slipped the sealed envelope under the door and turning away, he hurried down the long hallway towards the exit.  He had a bad feeling in his gut and for his own peace of mind, he needed to discuss his fears with Fuller as quickly as possible._

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35590683740/in/album-72157683140201352/)

**The End of What Was and the Beginning of What Will Be**

Tom flicked idly through one of the magazines that Penhall had bought for him but he could not concentrate on any of the articles.  His mind was on Booker and he wondered what his reaction had been when he had received the note.  He hoped that he would come in and visit so that they could talk things through and start to put the past behind them.  More than anything, he did not want Dennis to feel completely responsible for what had happened because he knew _he_ had also played a role in the devastating scenario.  It was his thoughtless display of affection that had unleashed the unwanted memories in Booker’s mind and it was those memories that had ultimately pushed him over the edge and caused him to lose control of his reasoning.  Dennis had reacted from fear; he had become the aggressor to save himself from being a victim again.  It was psychology 101 but even though Tom understood it, he doubted his friends and colleagues would identify with the premise and therefore, he had no choice but to continue with his deception and pretend he did not know who had assaulted him.

The sound of footsteps pulled him from his thoughts and turning his head, he held his breath in expectation.  But when Penhall walked through the door carrying a box of chocolates, he exhaled heavily, his face a mask of disappointment.  

“Not exactly the greeting I was hoping for,” Penhall stated in a voice tinged with hurt.

Tom gave his friend an apologetic smile.  “Sorry, I was hoping… I thought it might be Booker.”

Placing the box of chocolates on the bedside cabinet, Penhall pulled up a chair and sitting down, his expression became serious.  “Tommy, there’s something you should know,” he advised in a gentle voice.

Fear gripped at Tom’s heart and he gave his friend a frightened look.  “What?  What’s happened?”

Sighing heavily, Doug decided there was no point in beating around the bush.  “Booker’s missing,” he replied quietly.

Sitting upright in bed, Tom’s face visibly paled.  “Missing?  What do you mean missing?”

Doug chewed nervously on his lower lip.  “He hasn’t shown up for work and he’s not at his apartment.  Then this morning, Fuller gets a phone call from the county jail advising him that Booker visited Ferris yesterday.  We think he may be trying to find Maurice Keppler, you know, to seek revenge.”  He paused for a moment before asking the question that had been foremost on his mind since Booker’s disappearance.  “Tom, do you think Keppler might have been the one who raped you?”

Tom ran a trembling hand across his mouth.  If Booker _had_ gone looking for Keppler, he knew it was not to seek revenge but to seek penance for what he had done.  The memory of his tortured screams after the rape echoed in his mind and closing his eyes, he choked back a distressed sob.  Everything was unraveling and he knew that the time had come to tell the truth because if Dennis _had_ willingly gone to find Keppler, then that also meant he was willingly offering himself as a sex slave to a deranged psychopath.  His life was now in grave danger and Tom knew that if he were to be found quickly, the truth would have to be divulged so the team knew what they were dealing with, regardless of the consequences.

When a gentle hand touched his shoulder, he jumped involuntarily and looking up, he stared at Penhall with tormented eyes.  “No,” he choked, “Keppler didn’t do it... it was... it was Booker.”

Penhall’s eyes grew wide with shock.  “What?  _WHAT?!”_

Tom’s eyes pleaded with his friend to understand.  “He didn’t mean it Doug, I did something stupid and—”

“HE DIDN’T MEAN IT?  HE DIDN’T _MEAN_ IT?” Doug shouted hysterically.  “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?  YOU’RE _DEFENDING_ HIM AFTER EVERYTHING HE DID TO YOU?  JESUS _CHRIST_ HANSON, WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

Tears spilled from Tom’s eyes and covering his face with his hands, he started to cry.  “It’s my fault, it’s all my fault and now he’s gone searching for Keppler and that maniac is going to hurt him Doug, he’s going to hurt—”

Doug stood up so violently, his chair crashed loudly to the floor.  “FUCK BOOKER!” he screamed as he paced agitatedly around the small room.  “He deserves to be tortured.  He raped you Tom!  He fucking _raped_ you!”

Tom’s head shook violently from side to side.  “No, no, no!  You don’t understand!  It was _my_ fault, I came on to him and—”

At Tom’s confession, Doug stopped dead in his tracks and stared at his friend.  “You did _what?”_ he asked incredulously.

It was then that Tom realized what he had said and his heart missed a beat.  But there was no turning back, his secret was out and he had no choice but to tell the truth.  Clenching his hands into tight fists, he tried to control the panic that was constricting his chest, making it difficult for him to breathe.  “Doug,” he began in a shaky voice, “there’s something you should know about me… I'm attracted to men.”

Penhall held out his hands and took a step backwards.  “No,” he muttered, his head refusing to believe what his heart now knew to be true.  “Tom I don’t believe—”

“It’s true!” Tom cried out in anguish.  “Please Doug, don’t push me away… _please!_   You’re my best friend, I don’t want to lose you… I _can’t_ lose you!”

The impact of Tom’s words hit Doug like a freight train and rushing forward, he gathered Tom in his arms and held him close.  “Of course you won’t lose me,” he soothed in a soft voice.  “Jesus Tommy, why didn’t you tell me before?”

Wiping the tears from his eyes, Tom pulled away from Doug’s embrace.  “Because of that look in your eyes,” he muttered.  

Doug’s mouth twitched nervously.  “What look?”

Tom lowered his gaze.  “That look of disgust,” he whispered.

Running a hand through his hair, Doug tried to gather his thoughts.  His best friend had just admitted that he slept with men and he could not deny it, it was a huge shock.  He was accepting of people’s life choices but as a straight man, the thought of two men engaging in sexual intercourse made him cringe.   However, because he loved Tom like a brother, he was prepared to do everything in his power to make things right between them.

Sighing heavily, he reached out and took Tom’s hand in his.  “I’m not disgusted Tommy,” he explained quietly, “I’m just shocked, that’s all.”

Tom’s head jerked up and his lower lip pushed into a petulant pout.  “Don’t lie to me Doug,” he muttered sulkily, “I can see it in your eyes, I repulse you.”

Snatching his hand away, Doug stood up.  “So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?” he snapped, forgetting his previous vow to make everything right with Tom.  “You drop this _huge_ bombshell confession on me and I’m not allowed to react?  Well fuck you Hanson, I’ve every right to be shocked and I've every right to be pissed off.  I’m your best friend and you didn’t trust me enough to confide in me!”

It was then that Tom realized he was being unfair.  He had just revealed a massive secret and it was only logical that Penhall would need time to come to terms with it.  Lowering his head again, he began to pick nervously at the thin blanket on his bed.  “Sorry,” he mumbled.  “I know I should have told you but…” His voice trailed off and sighing miserably, he lay back against his pillows.  “I was afraid it would ruin our friendship.”

Sitting back down on the bed, Doug gave his friend a measured look.  “ _Lies_ ruin friendships Tom,” he replied quietly.  When Hanson remained silent, he exhaled wearily and stood up.  “Maybe I should go.”

As he turned to walk away, he felt a warm hand grasp his wrist.  “No, Doug, please,” Tom pleaded, “I need you to find Booker.”

Once again, Doug felt his anger rising and turning around, he stared down at Tom with narrowed eyes.  “And why would I do that?” he asked through gritted teeth.  “He raped you Tom and he deserves to be punished.  I hope he does find Keppler because then he’ll get what's coming to him... a world of pain.”

Tom’s dark eyes filled with grief.  “Don’t say that,” he whispered wretchedly.

“Why the hell not?” Doug asked impassively.  “After what he did to you, why do you keep defending him?”

A single tear trickled down Tom’s face.  “Because I love him.”

**

Tears streamed down Dennis’ face and he cried out in pain as Conan rotated a fist deep inside his anus.  “Have you been a bad boy, baby doll?” the deranged man asked, his voice dripping with arousal.

“Yes,” Dennis gasped, his head hanging low and his arms and legs shaking uncontrollably as he struggled to remain on all fours.  “I’m bad… I’m bad… I’m bad…”

Conan suppressed a laugh but he continued to grin manically at the sight of the blood oozing from Dennis’ damaged anus.  “Did you hurt Officer Hanson?” he taunted and shifting his position, he began to pump his fist inside Dennis’ body.  “Did you make him cry?”

Dennis screwed his eyes closed and concentrated on not passing out.  “Yes,” he sobbed.  “Oh God!  I didn’t mean to hurt him… I didn’t—”

“But you did,” Conan admonished in a stern voice whilst continuing to fist the young officer.  “You hurt him… then you killed him.”

Booker’s eyes flew open and he shook his head violently back and forth.  “NO!  I didn’t!  I didn’t kill him… I didn’t kill him!”

“Oh but you did baby doll,” Conan crooned softly and picking up a knife with his free hand he pressed it against Dennis’ stomach and drew the tip of the blade against the taut skin.  “I heard it on the news, he died and it’s all… your… fault.”

Dennis cried out in pain as the knife penetrated his belly and looking down he could see dark red blood dripping onto the wooden floorboards beneath him.  “Oh God, I _killed_ him!” he sobbed and his grief was so overwhelming that he no longer felt the hot searing pain that coursed through his damaged body.  “Oh Tommy I’m sorry!  I’m _SORRY!”_

Conan’s ice-blue eyes glinted with pleasure.  He had been surprised to find Booker on his doorstep and even more astounded when the dark haired officer had begged for punishment.  But the opportunity was too good to pass up and he would feed Dennis any bullshit lie that popped into his mind just so he would continue to beg to be punished, because punishing his _baby doll_ was what Conan did best.

**

Pulling up a chair, Doug sat down and stared at Tom incredulously.  “You’re in love with _Booker?”_

A deep blush stained Tom’s cheeks and he quickly averted his eyes.  “Yes,” he muttered.  A long silence hung in the air between the two men before Tom turned his head and gazed at Doug with pain-filled eyes.  “I made a huge mistake Doug,” he confessed quietly.  “I don’t know why I did it but I told him how beautiful he was and he… well… he just snapped.”

A large vein protruded from Doug’s forehead as he systematically clenched and unclenched his jaw.  “And that’s when he raped you?” he asked coldly.

Tom nodded miserably.  “But it wasn’t _him_ Doug, it was almost like he was possessed.  The things he said… I think he was reliving what was done to him.”

Doug’s voice remained frosty.  “So what you’re saying is, you forgive him because he wasn’t _himself_ , is that it?”  Before Tom could answer, Doug continued in a soft voice, “Or maybe you forgive him because it’s what _you_ wanted.”

Tom’s mouth dropped open and he stared at Penhall in shock.  “You think I _wanted_ to be raped?  Jesus _Christ_ Doug, how can you say that?”

Burying his face in his hands, Doug let out an anguished moan.  “I don’t know!” he cried, his normally happy voice now filled with torment.  “This whole situation is so fucked up I don’t know what to think!”

Reaching out a hand, Tom rested it on Penhall’s bowed head.  “I know it is,” he muttered, “but I need you Doug, I need you to find Booker.”

Lifting his head, Doug studied his friend’s face.  “Is that what you _really_ want?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” Tom replied simply.  “It is.”

Sighing heavily, Doug nodded his head.  “Okay Hanson, but I’m only doing this because you asked me to.  I still think Booker should be—”

“Doug don’t,” Tom pleaded softly, his face now showing signs of weariness, "I don't want to hear it."

Penhall’s expression softened and he gave his friend a half-hearted smile.  “Okay buddy, whatever you want.”  



	13. Is This It?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Previously: Pulling up a chair, Doug sat down and stared at Tom incredulously. “You’re in love with Booker?”_
> 
> _A deep blush stained Tom’s cheeks and he quickly averted his eyes. “Yes,” he muttered. A long silence hung in the air between the two men before Tom turned his head and gazed at Doug with pain-filled eyes. “I made a huge mistake Doug,” he confessed quietly. “I don’t know why I did it but I told him how beautiful he was and he… well… he just snapped.”_
> 
> _A large vein protruded from Doug’s forehead as he systematically clenched and unclenched his jaw. “And that’s when he raped you?” he asked coldly._
> 
> _Tom nodded miserably. “But it wasn’t him Doug, it was almost like he was possessed. The things he said… I think he was reliving what was done to him.”_
> 
> _Doug’s voice remained frosty. “So what you’re saying is, you forgive him because he wasn’t himself, is that it?” Before Tom could answer, Doug continued in a soft voice, “Or maybe you forgive him because it’s what you wanted.”_
> 
> _Tom’s mouth dropped open and he stared at Penhall in shock. “You think I wanted to be raped? Jesus Christ Doug, how can you say that?”_
> 
> _Burying his face in his hands, Doug let out an anguished moan. “I don’t know!” he cried, his normally happy voice now filled with torment. “This whole situation is so fucked up I don’t know what to think!”_
> 
> _Reaching out a hand, Tom rested it on Penhall’s bowed head. “I know it is,” he muttered, “but I need you Doug, I need you to find Booker.”_
> 
> _Lifting his head, Doug studied his friend’s face. “Is that what you really want?” he asked quietly._
> 
> _“Yes,” Tom replied simply. “It is.”_
> 
> _Sighing heavily, Doug nodded his head. “Okay Hanson, but I’m only doing this because you asked me to. I still think Booker should be—”_
> 
> _“Doug don’t,” Tom pleaded softly, his face now showing signs of weariness, "I don't want to hear it."_
> 
> _Penhall’s expression softened and he gave his friend a half-hearted smile. “Okay buddy, whatever you want.”_

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35590683610/in/album-72157683140201352/)

**Is This It?**

_Two days later_

The visiting room of the county jail was small, drab and smelled of stale cigarette smoke.  Penhall sat at a round table and as he waited for Ferris to appear, he casually studied the other prisoners in the room, all of which were deep in conversation with their respective loved ones.  As a police officer, it fascinated him how some individuals fell afoul of the law and he had read various articles on the subject.  Many criminologists believed environment was to blame and that a person’s upbringing steered them towards a particular path in life.  Then there was the _Choice Theory_ that was the belief that individuals chose to commit a crime and that they weighed up the benefit versus the punishment and decided whether or not it was worth the risk.  Lastly, there were those who adhered to the _Gene Theory_ , the idea being that certain people were predestined to become criminals because of mental illness or bad brain chemistry.  

As the theories churned around in his mind, his thoughts turned to Booker and a deep frown creased his brow. As far as he knew, Dennis came from a stable, loving home. Also, he was pursuing a career in law enforcement and yet despite all of that, he had committed a violent, heinous crime against a man who had shown him nothing but kindness since his own brutal rapes. So where did he fit in the _upbringing versus choice versus genes_ debate? Maybe there was a fourth alternative… _circumstances_. Would Booker have raped Tom if he had not been raped himself and if so, did that scenario fit into the _Environment Theory_ or was it grounds for a completely different argument? He had no idea but the confusion of it all was starting to stress him out. He felt the beginnings of a tension headache and closing his eyes, he rubbed at his temples and tried to put all thoughts of Tom’s rape out of his mind.

The sound of a chair scraping against the floor pulled him back to the present and opening his eyes, he stared into Ferris’ amused face.  “What’s so funny?” he growled.

Ferris’ thin lips pulled back in a sinister smile.  “Officer Penhall, how nice to see you.  How is Officer Hanson?  Feeling better I hope.”

Doug jumped to his feet and reaching over the table, he grabbed the front of Ferris’ prison overalls and hauled him across the table.  “You smug sonofabitch,” he spat, his eyes blazing with red-hot anger.  “This is all your fault.”

A prison guard stepped forward and laid a hand on his shoulder.  “Let him go Officer Penhall, he’s not worth it.”

With a growl, Doug pushed Ferris back into his chair.  “You’re going to tell me _everything_ you told Booker,” he snarled, “because if you don’t, I’m going to make your life in here a living hell.  So I guess the question is, do you want the next few years of your life to be easy or hard?”

Tilting back his chair, Ferris laughed softly.  “ _Nooo,_ the question is… what kind of man are you Officer Penhall?”  When Doug gave him a questioning look, he continued with a taunting smile.  “Do you want to _save_ Officer Booker or are you seeking revenge for what he did to your beloved Officer Hanson?  Good cop, bad cop... which one is it?  On the one hand, my associate is probably committing unspeakable things to Officer Booker’s young, nubile body, but on the other, your colleague is a rapist who hurt your friend.  Which one disturbs you more Officer Penhall?  The pain that Officer Booker is going through _right now_ at the hands of a psychopath or the pain he caused Officer Hanson?”

Penhall’s face burned red with fury and he clenched his fists into tight balls as he attempted to control his rage.  “Just tell me where he is,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

Ferris let out a sigh of boredom.  “You’re not getting it Officer Penhall, I don’t _care_ about you, I don’t _care_ about Officer Hanson and I sure as _hell_ don’t care about Officer Booker.  This is nothing more than a mild amusement to me and if you want information, you’re going to have to give me a whole lot of something in return.”

Leaning over the table, Penhall glowered down at Ferris with hate-filled eyes.  “What _exactly_ are you asking for?”

A slow smile spread over Ferris’ thin lips.  “I want all the charges against me dropped.  Once you do that, I’ll tell you what I know.”

**

Booker woke with a start and groaning loudly, he hauled himself up into a sitting position.  He trembled uncontrollably from the pain radiating through his body and holding his hand against the deep laceration on his stomach, he carefully hauled himself to his feet.  The room immediately began to spin and he leaned heavily against the wall until his vision returned to normal.  Then with slow, measured steps, he shuffled into the bathroom and relieved his bladder.  After flushing the toilet, he grasped hold of the hand basin and studied his reflection in the mirror.  Dark smudges circled his eyes and his face was drawn and pale, almost ghostly.  Looking away, he turned on the faucet and washed his hands before drinking several handfuls of the cool refreshing water.  Once he had quenched his thirst, he staggered back into the small bedroom and curled up on the mat at the foot of the double bed.  He had strict rules that he had to adhere to; the most important one being that _Daddy_ had forbidden him to sleep on the bed unless he was present and if he broke that rule, he paid for it with blood.

Just as he was about to close his eyes, he heard the key turn in the lock and lifting his head off the woven mat, he gazed expectantly at the door.  Rule number two was that he always greeted _Daddy_ with a smile and sitting up, he ran a trembling hand through his tangled hair and smiled through his pain.

“Hello beautiful,” Conan crooned softly and approaching the foot of the bed, he held up a syringe.  “Do you want your medication?”

Booker’s eyes filled with tears of gratitude and bowing his head in servitude, he held out a shaky arm.  “Yes please Daddy,” he murmured.

Squatting down on his haunches, Conan tied a rubber tourniquet around Dennis' arm and without any hesitation, he plunged the needle into the protruding vein and injected him with the yellowy-brown liquid.

As the cocktail of drugs coursed through his body, Booker felt his pain dissipate and with a sigh, he closed his eyes and lolled against Conan’s muscular body.  Gentle fingers ran through his dirty hair as a faraway voice tenderly spoke to him.  “Time to get you cleaned up baby doll.” 

Strong hands lifted him to a standing position and he swayed drunkenly on his feet as he waited for instructions.  “Jesus,” Conan muttered and wrapping an arm around Booker’s waist, he let out a frustrated sigh.  “I guess I gave you too much.”

Booker smiled a goofy smile as he stumbled clumsily across the room with the help of Conan's supportive embrace.  He was pain free and flying high and in his drug-induced mind, life could not be better.  When they reached the bathroom, he leaned heavily against the wall and once again, his eyelids fluttered closed as he waited for Conan to strip naked and turn on the shower.  He jumped slightly when warm fingers stroked his cock and opening his eyes, he grinned happily.  He knew this scenario, when _Daddy_ touched him in that way, it meant he would experience more loving and less pain.  He was in for a treat.

“Ready beautiful?” Conan whispered against his ear as a hand continued to tease his cock to life.  

“ _Yesh,”_ Booker slurred, his cock growing from the physical stimulation and his mind screaming for more.  “Pleesh… Daaa- _ddy_ … fuuuck… _meee_.”

Conan growled deeply and grabbing hold of Booker’s arm, he maneuvered him under the spray of water.  Pushing his back against the tiled wall, he pressed against his naked body and kissed him brutally whilst the warm water cascaded over both their bodies.  He groaned excitedly as his tongue absorbed Booker’s unique taste. But when he felt a hardness rubbing against him, he reached down and wrapping his fingers around Booker's erection, he gave it a forceful squeeze.  

Dennis let out a strangled cry as pain shot through the sensitive nerves in his cock.  Conan’s lips curled into a sadistic smile and breaking the kiss, he drew back and gazed into the confused eyes staring back at him.  “I don’t want you coming too soon baby doll,” he commanded in a firm voice.  “Daddy wants to get some lovin’ first.”

When his drug-induced mind finally comprehended the meaning of Conan’s words, Booker bowed his head and nodded.  He had broken one of the golden rules; _Daddy’s_ needs came first, not his.

Strong hands pressed down on his shoulders and dropping awkwardly to his knees, he waited for instructions.  A firm hand grasped his chin and tilted his head upwards until his glazed eyes locked with his master’s ice-blue stare.  “Suck me,” Conan demanded.  “Get me hard.”

Dennis moistened his lips and took Conan’s huge appendage into his mouth.  Cruel fingers ripped at his hair as he ran his lips over the semi erect shaft.  Moaning in pleasure, Conan thrust his hips forward, forcing his cock deeper into Booker’s mouth.  Trying not to gag, Booker opened his throat and allowed him access as the huge cock fucked his mouth.  Precum coated his tongue and he reveled in the familiarity of the taste.  This was what he lived for; this was his life.

Minutes passed before Conan finally withdrew, his cock now leaking heavily from the oral stimulation.  “Get to your feet,” he growled, his voice heavy with arousal.

Booker staggered to an upright position and obediently turned to face the wall.  His cock ached to be touched but he dared not disobey his _Daddy_ ; touching was strictly forbidden, unless he was instructed to do so.  Spreading his legs in readiness, he hung his head and waited patiently.  He flinched when a rough finger entered him, pushing through the tight muscle without any preparation.  When a second finger pushed inside, he screwed his eyes closed and concentrated on suppressing the cry of pain that threatened to escape from between his lips.  He was still damaged from the violent fisting he had received just days before and tears leaked from his eyes as the fresh wounds opened up and blood trickled from his anus.  
   
“Aww baby, you’re bleeding,” Conan whispered as he continued to thrust his fingers deep inside Booker’s channel.  “Was Daddy too rough on you last time?”

Panting heavily, Dennis shook his head.  “N-No,” he gasped.  “I l-liked it.”

Conan grinned manically and removing his fingers, he pressed his cock against Booker’s bloody hole.  “Do you like this?” he asked with a laugh and pushing forward, he rammed his erection deep inside Dennis’ anus.

“YES!” Dennis cried out as pain ripped through his body.  “Oh God… oh God!”

“That’s my boy,” Conan crooned and reaching down, he fondled Booker’s erection whilst fucking him from behind.  “Do you wanna come for Daddy?”

Warm water cascaded over Dennis’ bowed head and bracing his hands against the tiled wall, he gasped at the exquisite combination of pleasure and pain that coursed through his body.  “Yes, yes, yes… wanna come… wanna come,” he moaned.

With a grin, Conan lowered his head and bit down on the tender flesh between Booker’s neck and collarbone.  Dennis screamed in pain and thrusting his hips forward, he shot his semen over the glistening white tiles.  Blood pooled in Conan’s mouth, the metallic taste fueling his sexual desires and sucking hungrily at the ripped skin, he continued to ram his cock in and out of Booker’s tight passage.  When he felt his orgasm rising, he clamped his teeth down hard on the soft flesh and growling like a rabid dog, he shook his head violently from side to side.  

As Booker felt the flesh tearing from his body, he let out a primordial scream of pain.  The tiled wall swam in front of him as his vision blurred and he felt his legs starting to give way.  He struggled to remain standing but the pain was so intense, he wondered how long it would be before his legs buckled beneath him.

Conan held Booker upright until he had shuddered out the last of his seed and when he was spent, he forcefully withdrew and allowed his plaything to fall to the shower floor in a crumpled heap.  Blood from Dennis’ various wounds mixed with the water and flowed in abstract swirls down the drain.  He lay on the tiled floor, panting heavily from the pain and the euphoria of his orgasm.  Moments later, the shower turned off and strong hands lifted him from the floor and carried him into the bedroom.  He was gently laid on the mat at the foot of the bed and a soft fluffy bath sheet lovingly toweled him dry.  He sighed contentedly, despite the searing pain in his shoulder and watched as Conan dried himself before discarding the towel on the floor.  Weariness suddenly enveloped his body and he closed his eyes, only to open them seconds later when he felt himself lifted from the floor and placed onto the bed.  A soft mewing sound escaped his lips as protective arms wrapped around his body and held him close.

“Go to sleep baby doll,” Conan muttered sleepily.  “Tomorrow’s going to be a big day.”

Too tired and stoned to understand the full implication of Conan’s words, Booker closed his eyes and fell asleep.

**

_One week later_

Tom sat in the hard backed hospital chair and gazed distractedly out of the window.  It was over a week since his assault and physically, he was healing as well as what was to be expected given his injuries however, emotionally, he was a wreck.  Nightmarish images plagued his dreams and he often woke up screaming, his body drenched in sweat at the memory of Dennis’ bloody and battered body lying in the cage in Conan’s basement.  The nurses offered him sleeping pills but he feared the drugs would lock him in his nightmare, trapping him with the visions and so he had refused.  Then, to add to his woes, the news had come back that Penhall’s request to have Ferris’ charges dropped had been denied by the Police Commissioner and therefore the filmmaker had refused to divulge Conan’s whereabouts.  Doug had tried all matter of bribes, but Ferris remained stubbornly tight-lipped and they were no further forward in finding Booker and saving him from Conan’s abuse than they had been a week ago.  The harsh realization that Booker could remain missing for weeks, months or even years ate away at Tom’s conscience and he found himself slowly spiraling into depression.  He was to blame; everything was his fault and he was powerless to save the man he loved.  He was, for all intents and purposes, useless.

As he gazed down at a group of children playing jump rope in the park, his thoughts turned to Penhall.  After revealing his secret, he had begged his friend to keep it to himself and not report what he knew about the rape to their superior.  Penhall had been unwilling at first but after witnessing Tom’s distress, he had reluctantly agreed.  But over the last few days, Doug’s demeanor had changed.  He had become distant and nervous and for Tom, it was a telltale sign that his friend was keeping something from him.  So now, on top of his concern for Booker’s welfare, he had the added worry that Doug had betrayed his confidence.

Sighing heavily, he turned from the window and saw Adam Fuller standing in the doorway.  “Hey Coach,” he muttered in surprise, “I thought Doug was picking me up.”

Fuller entered the room and closed the door.  “How are you feeling Hanson?” he asked quietly.

Tom’s lips twitched into a small smile.  “I’m fine Cap’n, looking forward to going home.”

Nodding his head, Fuller crossed the room and took a seat on the edge of the bed.  He stared down at his hands for several moments before lifting his head and looking Tom directly in the eyes.  “Did Booker rape you Tom?”

Drawing in a sharp intake of breath, Tom jumped to his feet and stared at his Captain in disbelief.  “Doug _told_ you?  That sonofabitch!  How could he betray me like that?  How could he—”

Fuller’s expression remained impassive.  “Answer my question Hanson, I need to hear it from you.  Did… Booker… rape you?”

Realizing that denial was pointless, Tom sat down heavily on the chair and covered his face with his hands.  “Yes,” he sobbed, his body trembling with emotion.  “But he didn’t mean it Cap’n, you’ve got to believe me, he didn’t mean it!”

Standing up, Fuller laid a gentle hand on Tom’s head.  “We’ll talk about it at the Chapel tomorrow.  Come on, let me take you home.”

Tom lifted his tear stained face and gazed imploringly at his superior.  “This won’t change anything, will it Cap’n?  I mean, we’re still going to keep looking for Booker, right?”

Clenching his jaw, Fuller let out a weary sigh.  “We’ll see Hanson, I take my orders from the Commissioner so—”

“So what?” Tom exclaimed angrily.  “That’s _it?_   You’re just going to sit there and do _nothing_ whilst one of your officers is drugged, beaten and raped by a psychopath?”

Fuller’s dark eyes filled with pain.  “As of today, Booker is no longer a member of the Jump Street program, in fact, he is no longer a police officer; his badge has been revoked.”

Tom’s eyes grew wide with disbelief.  “You’re fucking kidding me!  Why would they do that?  What happened to innocent until proven guilty?  If I don't press charges, they've got nothing!  _NOTHING!”_

“It’s not entirely about the rape Tom,” Fuller replied gently.  “He willingly sought out Keppler and that means he either wanted revenge or he’s mentally unwell and freely offering himself up as a sacrificial lamb.  Either way, the Commissioner has decided that he is no longer fit to serve on the force.”

Standing up, Tom angrily pushed past his Captain and picked up the small bag that held his belongings.  “Get out," he muttered.  ”I'll find my own way home."

Fuller started to protest but when he saw the hostile look on Tom’s face, he closed his mouth and walked silently from the room.  



	14. The Times They Are a-Changin'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Previously: As he gazed down at a group of children playing jump rope in the park, his thoughts turned to Penhall. After revealing his secret, he had begged his friend to keep it to himself and not report what he knew about the rape to their superior. Penhall had been unwilling at first but after witnessing Tom’s distress, he had reluctantly agreed. But over the last few days, Doug’s demeanor had changed. He had become distant and nervous and for Tom, it was a telltale sign that his friend was keeping something from him. So now, on top of his concern for Booker’s welfare, he had the added worry that Doug had betrayed his confidence._
> 
> _Sighing heavily, he turned from the window and saw Adam Fuller standing in the doorway. “Hey Coach,” he muttered in surprise, “I thought Doug was picking me up.”_
> 
> _Fuller entered the room and closed the door. “How are you feeling Hanson?” he asked quietly._
> 
> _Tom’s lips twitched into a small smile. “I’m fine Cap’n, looking forward to going home.”_
> 
> _Nodding his head, Fuller crossed the room and took a seat on the edge of the bed. He stared down at his hands for several moments before lifting his head and looking Tom directly in the eyes. “Did Booker rape you Tom?”_
> 
> _Drawing in a sharp intake of breath, Tom jumped to his feet and stared at his Captain in disbelief. “Doug told you? That sonofabitch! How could he betray me like that? How could he—”_
> 
> _Fuller’s expression remained impassive. “Answer my question Hanson, I need to hear it from you. Did… Booker… rape you?”_
> 
> _Realizing that denial was futile, Tom sat down heavily on the chair and covered his face with his hands. “Yes,” he sobbed, his body trembling with emotion. “But he didn’t mean it Cap’n, you’ve got to believe me, he didn’t mean it!”_
> 
> _Standing up, Fuller laid a gentle hand on Tom’s head. “We’ll talk about it at the Chapel tomorrow. Come on, let me take you home.”_
> 
> _Tom lifted his tear stained face and gazed imploringly at his superior. “This won’t change anything, will it Cap’n? I mean, we’re still going to keep looking for Booker, right?”_
> 
> _Clenching his jaw, Fuller let out a weary sigh. “We’ll see Hanson, I take my orders from the Commissioner so—”_
> 
> _“So what?” Tom exclaimed angrily. “That’s it? You’re just going to sit there and do nothing whilst one of your officers is drugged, beaten and raped by a psychopath?”_
> 
> _Fuller’s dark eyes filled with pain. “As of today, Booker is no longer a member of the Jump Street program, in fact, he is no longer a police officer; his badge has been revoked.”_
> 
> _Tom’s eyes grew wide with disbelief. “You’re fucking kidding me! Why would they do that? What happened to innocent until proven guilty? If I don't press charges, they've got nothing! NOTHING!”_
> 
> _“It’s not entirely about the rape Tom,” Fuller replied gently. “He willingly sought out Keppler and that means he either wanted revenge or he’s mentally unwell and freely offering himself up as a sacrificial lamb. Either way, the Commissioner has decided that he is no longer fit to serve on the force.”_
> 
> _Standing up, Tom angrily pushed past his Captain and picked up the small bag that held his belongings. “Get out," he muttered. ”I'll find my own way home."_
> 
> _Fuller started to protest but when he saw the hostile look on Tom’s face, he closed his mouth and walked silently from the room._

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35590683550/in/album-72157683140201352/)

**The Times They Are a-Changin'**

_Ten days later_

Booker opened his eyes and letting out a contented sigh, he snuggled down deeper into the soft mattress.  The night before, _Daddy_ had taught him a brutal lesson and a six-inch knife wound across his belly was the latest of many cuts that decorated his muscular body.  But because he had taken his punishment without complaint, he had been rewarded and he had slept the whole night wrapped in _Daddy’s_ protective embrace.  The effects of the drugs from the night before had not yet completely worn off and he was almost free from pain, but as his mind slowly awakened, the realization suddenly hit him that being comfortable was not a good thing.  Without pain, there was no penance and without penance, he was nothing more than a depraved, disgusting rapist who had killed his friend.

His happy mood quickly evaporated and tears filled his eyes.  He had taken the life of the one man who had not avoided him after the rapes.  Tom was the only officer in the Jump Street program who had offered the hand of friendship when he needed it the most and he now had to live with the knowledge that because of that friendship, he had killed a man in cold blood.

The need to repent for his sins suddenly overwhelmed him and reaching down, he began to tear at the wound on his stomach with his bare hands.  As the scab ripped open, he felt a rush of pain and relief flooded through his body.  He was bad… bad, bad, bad, bad, bad and he needed to be punished, he needed to pay for his transgressions; he needed to suffer.

Spots of blood splattered against the white sheet beneath him as his fingers continued to rip at his own flesh.  The pain was almost unbearable but he did not cry out.  He suffered more if he held the pain inside, to cry out alleviated some of the agony he was inflicting on himself and he did not deserve any kind of mercy because if he allowed himself that luxury, he might forget who he really was… a rapist and a murderer.

A loud yell followed by a stinging blow to the side of his head had him reeling in shock and looking up, he saw his _Daddy’s_ furious face glaring down at him.  

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” Conan yelled and grabbing a handful of Booker’s hair, he forced his face down against the bloodstained sheet.  “LOOK AT THE FUCKING MESS YOU’VE MADE!”

Tears filled Booker’s eyes.  “I’m s-sorry,” he sobbed, “I had to _repent!”_

Conan yanked Booker’s head up by his hair until their eyes met.  “Oh you’ll repent baby doll, don’t worry about that, but I can’t have you looking like damaged goods.  Scars are a turn on, bloody wounds aren’t.  Understood?”

Booker tried to nod his assent but Conan’s strong grasp on his hair kept his head immobile.  “Y-Yes,” he stuttered.  I understand… I understand.”

A large foot kicked him forcibly in the stomach and he fell to the floor with a loud thud.  An amused snort sounded from the bed and looking up, he saw Conan’s face staring down at him.  “Get cleaned up,” the large man growled.  “They’ll be here soon.”

A shiver ran down Booker’s spine and hauling himself to his feet, he staggered into the bathroom.

**

_One month later_

Sitting in his Mustang, Tom stared up at the Chapel’s stained glass windows whilst chewing anxiously on his lower lip.  He had spent the previous night worrying about whether he was making the right decision but eventually, he had convinced himself that he was.  His life had changed irrevocably and he now knew there was no turning back.  The night he had found Booker lying battered and bleeding on the basement floor had been the catalyst and since then, things had steadily become worse.  He had changed in many ways and he knew that whatever happened, the carefree Tom Hanson of old was gone, dead and buried on the night he had ascended the basement steps into hell.  Never would he be able to view life in the same way again.  He had experienced too much pain, his life had been altered forever… and it was all because he had dared to open his heart to love.

Booker occupied his every waking thought and then, when darkness fell, he haunted his dreams.  Even though Fuller had tried his best, since the announcement of Booker’s discharge there had been no official investigation into his disappearance.  Forced into action, Tom had made the unprecedented step of visiting the Commissioner himself and begging him to reconsider but he had received the same verbatim answer Adam Fuller had received when he had approached his superior; _Booker was a grown man.  He had willing sought out the whereabouts of Maurice Keppler and therefore, it was not a police matter._

Tom’s next avenue of inquiry had been Booker’s parents but their hostile indifference quickly told him that they too had little sympathy for a man who had gone looking for his abuser.  It was frustrating and infuriating but at the precise moment when Judy Booker slammed the front door in his face, he knew he had to go it alone.  He would devote the rest of his life searching for the man he loved.  He owed Booker that much.

With a heavy sigh, he opened the Mustang’s door and climbed out of the vehicle.  There was no point putting it off any longer, he knew what he had to do and the sooner he did it, the sooner he could start looking for his friend.  Entering the main operations room, he avoided Penhall’s gaze and quickly walked to the open door of Fuller’s office.  Rapping his knuckles on the wooden paneling, he waited for his Captain to lift his head before speaking.  “Can I come in Coach?”

Adam Fuller pushed his paperwork aside and beckoned for him to enter.  “What can I do for you Hanson?”

Tom walked up to the desk and without hesitation, he pulled out his gun and badge and laid them on the wooden surface.  “I’m handing in my resignation.”

Fuller’s dark eyes widened in surprise.  “You’re _resigning?_   Tom, have you given this serious thought?  I know things have been difficult for you the last few months but you’re a good cop and you have a very promising career ahead of you.”

Lowering his eyes, Tom jammed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and shuffled his feet uncomfortably.  “I _have_ thought about it Cap’n and I just can’t do it anymore.  The department doesn’t give a shit about Booker and—”

Fuller let out a sigh of understanding.  “Of course, this is about Booker.”

Lifting his gaze, Tom’s eyes flashed with anger.  “Of _course_ this is about Booker!  Why am I the only person who seems to give a damn about him?”

A deep frown creased Fuller’s brow.  “Booker raped you Tom, he committed a heinous crime and—”

“AND I’VE FORGIVEN HIM!” Tom yelled back in frustration.  “Jesus _Christ_ , what the hell is wrong with you people?  It’s obvious he’s had a mental breakdown but you and Penhall are treating him like a fucking criminal!  Why won’t you help him?”

“I don’t know what it is you expect me to do Hanson,” Fuller replied in a quiet voice.  “I’ve been to the Commissioner but without his say so I can’t—”

Tom threw his hands in the air in exasperation.  “You know what?  Forget it.  I don’t need your help.”

Rising to his feet, Fuller tried to calm the situation.  “Hanson wait, let’s discuss this and maybe we can—”

“Forget it Coach,” Tom muttered despondently and reaching across the desk, he offered his hand.  “Thanks for everything, it’s been an honor and a privilege working with you.”

When Fuller realized that Tom had made up his mind and there was no talking him out of his decision, his dark eyes filled with sorrow and taking Tom’s hand in his, he shook it warmly.  “We’re going to miss you Hanson,” he murmured.

Tom smiled a sad smile.  “I’m going to miss you too.”

**

_One month later_

Standing naked in front of a dozen prying eyes, Booker bowed his head submissively, just as _Daddy_ had taught him.  He knew the drill, it was an auction and the highest bidder won the goods… him.  Every Friday night for the last few months he had been paraded in front of potential _buyers_ , all vying to out bid each other so that they won the right to have him as their sex slave for one night.  He recognized four of the men, they were the regulars who turned up every week with pockets loaded with money and various drugs.  They were the _in_ crowd, his _Daddy’s_ close friends and more often than not, one of them won the bidding.  But tonight there was a new face in the crowd, another member of the elite club and new meant unpredictable.  He knew from experience that if this man won the auction, he was flying blind.  After months of conditioning, he knew what to expect from the others; George enjoyed biting, Daniel got his pleasure from fisting, Nat's fetish was bondage and Carl got his kicks using sex toys.  All of them left their mark in some way and although he fed off the pain they inflicted (pain was his penance), he felt safe in their company.  But now, with a new player in town, all that could very easily change.

Everyone except the new man had placed their bid and when he finally approached, Booker’s body began to tremble.  Staring down at the floor, he tried not to flinch when callused fingers stroked his cock.  “Nice,” the man purred softly as his hand traveled up Booker’s torso before coming to rest at the base of his throat where he proceeded to squeeze with gentle force.  “Let’s get a look at that pretty face of yours.”

Dennis lifted his head whilst struggling to keep his breathing under control.  The pressure around his throat was slowly increasing and if the man did not remove his hand soon, he was at risk of passing out.  “Fuck,” the man breathed as he gazed deep into Dennis’ frightened eyes, “you’re one beautiful sonofabitch.”

“That’s enough,” Conan growled and moving forward, he pulled the man’s hand from Booker’s throat.  “No playing with the merchandise until he’s yours.”

The man’s eyes glinted with malice and turning to face Conan, he pulled out a wad of cash.  “A thousand dollars, but I get to rough him up.”

“Exactly _how_ do you plan to rough him up Leroy?” Conan asked in a low voice, his covetous eyes staring at the rolled up banknotes.

A sinister smile played over Leroy’s full lips.  “Use your imagination Conan,” he murmured softly.

With his gaze fixed on the money, Conan ran his tongue over his lower lip.  “If you’re gonna make a mess of him I need compensation, so to speak.  Fifteen hundred and he’s yours for the night.”

Leroy’s face split into a wide grin.  “Deal,” he replied and he quickly peeled fifteen, crisp one-hundred dollar bills from the roll in his hand and passed them to Conan.  “Pleasure doing business with you.”

When Conan’s gaze met Dennis’ frightened eyes, he laughed softly.  “Be good baby doll,” he murmured and turning away, he left the room, followed by the other four men.

Once they were alone, Leroy’s hand found its way back around Booker’s neck.  “Mmm, _baby doll_ … I like it,” he crooned menacingly whilst increasing the pressure around Booker’s throat.  “But I think I’m gonna give you a new name, at least for tonight.  Let’s see… how about… _filthy whore!”_ and with an angry yell, he slammed his fist into Booker’s jaw.

Dennis staggered backwards, but with Leroy’s large hand still clamped around his throat, he did not fall.  Searing pain radiated through his head and when he caught a glimpse of the maniacal glint in Leroy’s eyes, he knew that he would be paying the ultimate penance for his sins.


	15. Beautiful Veins and Bloodshot Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Previously: Standing naked in front of a dozen prying eyes, Booker bowed his head submissively, just as Daddy had taught him. He knew the drill, it was an auction and the highest bidder won the goods… him. Every Friday night for the last few months he had been paraded in front of potential buyers, all vying to out bid each other so that they won the right to have him as their sex slave for one night. He recognized four of the men, they were the regulars who turned up every week with pockets loaded with money and various drugs. They were the in crowd, his Daddy’s close friends and more often than not, one of them won the bidding. But tonight there was a new face in the crowd, another member of the elite club and new meant unpredictable. He knew from experience that if this man won the auction, he was flying blind. After months of conditioning, he knew what to expect from the others; George enjoyed biting, Daniel got his pleasure from fisting, Nat's fetish was bondage and Carl got his kicks using sex toys. All of them left their mark in some way and although he fed off the pain they inflicted (pain was his penance), he felt safe in their company. But now, with a new player in town, all that could very easily change._
> 
> _Everyone except the new man had placed their bid and when he finally approached, Booker’s body began to tremble. Staring down at the floor, he tried not to flinch when callused fingers stroked his cock. “Nice,” the man purred softly as his hand traveled up Booker’s torso before coming to rest at the base of his throat where he proceeded to squeeze with gentle force. “Let’s get a look at that pretty face of yours.”_
> 
> _Dennis lifted his head whilst struggling to keep his breathing under control. The pressure around his throat was slowly increasing and if the man did not remove his hand soon, he was at risk of passing out. “Fuck,” the man breathed as he gazed deep into Dennis’ frightened eyes, “you’re one beautiful sonofabitch.”_
> 
> _“That’s enough,” Conan growled and moving forward, he pulled the man’s hand from Booker’s throat. “No playing with the merchandise until he’s yours.”_
> 
> _The man’s eyes glinted with malice and turning to face Conan, he pulled out a wad of cash. “A thousand dollars, but I get to rough him up.”_
> 
> _“Exactly how do you plan to rough him up Leroy?” Conan asked in a low voice, his covetous eyes staring at the rolled up banknotes._
> 
> _A sinister smile played over Leroy’s full lips. “Use your imagination Conan,” he murmured softly._
> 
> _With his gaze fixed on the money, Conan ran his tongue over his lower lip. “If you’re gonna make a mess of him I need compensation, so to speak. Fifteen hundred and he’s yours for the night.”_
> 
> _Leroy’s face split into a wide grin. “Deal,” he replied and he quickly peeled fifteen, crisp one-hundred dollar bills from the roll in his hand and passed them to Conan. “Pleasure doing business with you.”_
> 
> _When Conan’s gaze met Dennis’ frightened eyes, he laughed softly. “Be good baby doll,” he murmured and turning away, he left the room, followed by the other four men._
> 
> _Once they were alone, Leroy’s hand found its way back around Booker’s neck. “Mmm, baby doll… I like it,” he crooned menacingly whilst increasing the pressure around Booker’s throat. “But I think I’m gonna give you a new name, at least for tonight. Let’s see… how about… filthy whore!” and with an angry yell, he slammed his fist into Booker’s jaw._
> 
> _Dennis staggered backwards, but with Leroy’s large hand still clamped around his throat, he did not fall. Searing pain radiated through his head and when he caught a glimpse of the maniacal glint in Leroy’s eyes, he knew that he would be paying the ultimate penance for his sins._

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35590683490/in/album-72157683140201352/)

**Beautiful Veins and Bloodshot Eyes**

  
_Three  weeks later_

Sunday night was league night at Tom’s local bowling alley but instead of playing, he now worked there part-time.  A week after leaving the force he had sat and passed the Los Angeles Private Investigator’s Exam and he was now working from home as a P.I.  Being new to the business, the work was slow coming in, and so he had taken a job at the bowling alley to tide him over until he built up his reputation in the world of private investigating.  He did not mind, he still had plenty of money in the bank and not working every day meant he could devote more time looking for Booker.  Not that he had managed to gather much information but it felt good knowing that he was actively doing _something_ to find the man he loved.

Placing a pair of rented shoes back on the rack, he turned around and saw Penhall standing at the counter.  His friend had not taken his resignation well, in fact, he had been furious about it and he had made his feelings perfectly clear.  Just minutes after Tom had walked out of Fuller’s office, the two men had become embroiled in a loud and heated argument and Doug had told him that his infatuation with Booker had gone too far and that he was becoming obsessed.  Furious at Doug’s lack of understanding, Tom had thrown a punch that had landed square on his jaw, knocking him to the floor.  There had been no apologies, just stony silence and when Doug eventually scrambled to his feet, Harry had quickly intervened and ushered Tom from the Chapel.  That had been three weeks ago and the two men had not spoken since.

Now, as he stared into Doug's expressionless face, Tom was unsure whether he was there to settle the score or offer the olive branch, and taking a step backwards, he gave him a wary look.  “What are you doing here?” 

Sadness filled Penhall’s eyes and he held out his hand.  “I came to apologize.”

Tom stared silently at the proffered hand suspended above the counter.  He missed their friendship and he wanted things to be right again but Doug’s lack of understanding about his feelings for Booker still hurt.  However, when he saw the genuine remorse in the dark eyes staring at him, he knew he could not stay mad and stepping forward, he gave the hand a shake.  “Apology accepted,” he muttered.

When Penhall continued to stare silently back at him, Tom raised his eyebrows in question.  “What?”

A scowl darkened Doug’s face.  “Aren’t you going to apologize to _me?”_ he asked petulantly.

Tom’s face mirrored Doug’s sulky expression.  “For what?  You’re the one who started it.”

Feeling his anger rising, Doug opened his mouth to retort, but instead of telling Tom _exactly_ why he should apologize, he closed it again and stared at his friend.  He had come down to the bowling alley to repair their friendship, not make things worse.  He could not deny it, he missed Tom more than he would ever let on and if forgoing an apology meant their friendship went back to the way it had been then he was happy to do it.  “You’re right,” he stated in a soft voice.  “I started it and now I’m ending it.  Friends?”

The words were not what Tom expected to hear and his expression softened.  “Of course,” he sighed, “but you’re right, it was my fault too.  I shouldn’t have hit you.”

Penhall’s mouth curled up on one side.  “Hardly felt it,” he joked quietly.  “You punch like a girl.”

Tom grinned back.  “Yeah right,” he chuckled.  “You hit the floor pretty hard if I remember rightly.”

Doug’s smile widened.  “In your dreams.” 

Relieved that everything had returned to normal, Tom started to relax.  “So, how’ve you been?” he asked as he placed a bowl of salted peanuts down on the counter.

Pulling up a stool, Penhall sat down and grabbed a handful of nuts.  “Busy,” he mumbled through a mouthful of salty goodness.  “You know how it is.”

Tom felt a pang of guilt.  He had left so suddenly, Fuller had not had a chance to find someone to replace him.  “Sorry,” he apologized.  “I guess I should have waited until you had a new officer assigned.”

Not wanting Tom to feel uncomfortable, Penhall waved his hand dismissively.  “Nah, it’s fine.  But I’m gonna miss being a McQuaid.  We had some fun times together.”

A smile played over Tom’s lips.  “Yeah, we did,” he replied quietly before adding mischievously, “but, you know what?  I always thought the McQuaid’s were _pretty_ stupid.”

Doug eyes widened in shock and just as he opened his mouth to retort, he saw the playful glint in Tom’s eyes.  “Asshole,” he laughed as he crammed the last of the nuts into his mouth.  “So, now we’ve got all the bullshit out the way, I came here to see if you needed any help finding Booker.”

Tom could not help himself and narrowing his eyes, he gave Doug a skeptical look.  "Why?  So you can put him on trial for rape?  No thanks Doug, I'll do this by myself."

Doug stopped chewing and gave Tom a wounded look.  “Do you _really_ think that’s why I want to help you,” he asked.

Sighing heavily, Tom picked up the empty bowl and put it behind the counter.  “I don’t know,” he replied truthfully.  “Everyone seems to think he deserves it but no one’s looking at it from my point of view.”

Gazing back at his friend, Doug’s expression softened.  “You love him,” he stated simply.

A pinkish glow colored Tom’s cheeks and he lowered his gaze for a moment before looking Doug directly in the eye.  “Yeah I do,” he admitted in a soft voice.  “But it’s not that Doug.  Booker’s straight, he could never love me back, I know that.  I’m doing this because he’s not in his right mind and he needs someone to rescue him from that psychopath.”

After thinking over Tom's words, Doug let out a barely audible sigh.  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”  An uncomfortable silence hung in the air between them before he spoke again.  “So, can I help?”

This time, Tom’s lips twitched into a grateful smile.  “Yeah Doug, I guess you can."

**

_Four weeks later_

As the lit cigarette sizzled against the tender flesh of his inner thigh, Dennis’ eyes bulged and he screamed against the ball gag in his mouth.  Leroy Tanner had been torturing him for hours and he was rapidly losing the will to live.  Even with all the drugs circulating through his veins, the pain was unlike anything he had ever felt before.  His body was a bloody canvas of jagged cuts and deep burns and he knew that his once perfect skin was damaged beyond repair and that he would be scarred for life.  Not that he cared about that, the scars would forever remind him of what he was and what he had done, and he needed that, it was all part of his atonement.  But this torture was unlike any other he had endured before and as the cigarette burned him again, this time so close to his genitals that he could feel the heat against his testicles, his fight response automatically kicked in and he struggled violently against the leather straps that bound his wrists and ankles to the bedposts.  “ _NOOO!”_ he choked against the gag and snot bubbled from his nostrils as he struggle to breathe.  “ _STOP!  STOP!”_

Leroy lifted the cigarette to his lips and calmly drew in a deep lungful of smoke before exhaling it directly into Booker’s face.  “I paid double to have you tonight, Denny boy,” he murmured in a menacing tone, “and I ain’t even close to being finished.”  Flicking the used butt onto the floor, he grabbed the discarded bed sheet and forcefully wiped at the mucus streaming from Booker’s nose.  “I don’t want you looking like a two-bit junkie whore, so stop your sniveling, understood?”

Tears streamed down Dennis’ face and he nodded his head.  He deserved to feel pain, humiliation and fear because that was _exactly_ what Tom had felt when he had raped him a lifetime ago.  It was his justice.

**

_The following night - Christmas Eve_

Lifting his battered body from his mat, Booker moaned in pain as he crawled slowly across the hardwood floor.  Almost twenty-four hours had passed since Leroy had finally released him from his shackles and walked silently from the room.  But since then, he had been left on his own, bereft of the drugs his body craved and the comfort his _Daddy_ usually afforded him after the ordeal of a Friday night auction.  

Sweat slicked his trembling body and watery bile rose in his throat as his need for a fix steadily intensified.  He had not eaten for thirty-six hours and his stomach rumbled in protest as his confused mind struggled to understand why his _Daddy_ had not come to him.  After a night spent with one of the _elite_ , it was usual for _Daddy_ to shower him, clean his wounds and tuck him into a freshly made bed.  He would then climb in beside him and hold him protectively in his arms whilst telling him what a good boy he was.  But everything was different this time.  Never before had Dennis gone so long without seeing his _Daddy_ and his heart hammered in his chest at the thought of being alone.  What if _Daddy_ was angry with him and had walked out?  What if _Daddy_ had found someone he liked more and he had been discarded like a piece of trash on the highway?  What if?  What if?  What if?

Using the hand basin as support, he hauled himself upright and relieved his aching bladder.  Blood and semen coated his thighs but the sight no longer revolted him, the ongoing abuse had conditioned him and he was almost blind to it.  Even so, he still longed to take a hot shower and wash the sticky mess from his body.  However, as he swayed unsteadily on his feet, he knew he was incapable of doing it alone.

Looking down into the toilet, he saw blood mixed in with his urine and he knew it was a result of the continuous blows he had received to his kidneys since Leroy had joined the elite auction club.  Various sized contusions covered his lower back, ranging in color from bright red to a dull yellowy-brown.  His body was slowly succumbing to the abuse and although he _wanted_ to repent, he knew that if he continued to do so, there was a distinct possibility he could die.  However, when he lay wrapped in his _Daddy’s_ warm embrace, listening to the steady sound of his breathing, he realized he did not fear death because that would be his ultimate reparation to Tom; it would be the proverbial eye for an eye and he would _finally_ be able to rest in peace.

Without bothering to flush the toilet, he turned and staggered towards the bedroom door.  Although _Daddy_ had strictly forbidden him to leave the room, he was desperate for his _medication_ and after weighing up the options, he figured it was worth a beating to get what his body and mind so desperately needed.  Comfortable in the knowledge that his slave would not try to escape, Conan had stopped locking the door months ago and so when Dennis tried the knob, it turned easily in his hand.  Pushing the door slowly ajar, he peered through the gap and into the cabin’s dimly lit main living area.  It took a moment for his pain-addled brain to register what he was seeing and then, his world imploded.

Conan lay slumped on the couch with a hypodermic needle sticking out of his arm.  His bloodshot eyes stared sightlessly up at the wooden-beamed ceiling, the surprised expression on his ashen face forever frozen in time.  

Maurice Keppler was dead of a heroin overdose at the age of thirty-three.

Booker let out a strangled cry and stumbling forward, he fell to his knees next to the man who had been both his tormentor and savior.  “ _NOOO!”_ he screamed hysterically and laying his head on his _Daddy’s_ cold chest, he gathered him into his arms and hugged him close.  “Don’t _leave_ me,” he sobbed, “oh please Daddy don’t leave me.”

Minutes slowly turned into hours and Booker remained kneeling on the floor with his _Daddy_ held tightly in his arms.  The pain in his body was a distant memory; it was the pain in his mind that now tormented him.  

His _Daddy_ was dead and he was alone.

When the clock struck midnight, he lifted his head and gazed around the dark room.  Slowly, his mind began to register the pain in his body and letting out a loud moan, he released his _Daddy_ from his arms.  Stretching out his cramped legs, he held onto the couch for support and pulled himself upright.  As he gazed down into his _Daddy’s_ unseeing eyes, a single tear trickled down his face… this was their final goodbye.

Turning away, he limped towards the door.  The fact that he was naked and bloody did not even register in his mind.  He was focused on one thing and one thing only; he needed to get help because he would not leave _Daddy_ to rot in a secluded cabin alone.  

He deserved better than that.

Stepping out into the cool night air, adrenaline coursed through his body and the pain from his injuries disappeared as though by magic.  Although battered and hungry, he began to run down the narrow road that led from the cabin, his mind barely registering the stones and twigs that scraped at the soles of his feet.  Having spent months in a bedroom, he was unused to exercise and his chest heaved painfully as he struggled to catch his breath.  But it did not hold him back, he sprinted like a wild animal freed from captivity and as the fresh air filled his lungs, he felt invigorated and alive.  He was doing something purposeful; he was helping his _Daddy_.

The narrow track began to widen and in the distance, he saw an asphalt road and without slowing his pace, he ran out onto the bitumen.  A car’s headlights immediately blinded him and throwing an arm over his sensitive eyes, he dropped to his knees and cried out in distress.  The loud squealing of tires rent the cold night air and the smell of burning rubber assaulted his nostrils as the car screeched to a halt just meters from his cowering body.  Moments later, he heard feet pounding on the tarmac and when a hand rested on his shoulder, he shrank away from the contact.  “Geez buddy, are you okay?” a man’s anxious voice queried.

Lifting his head, the car’s headlights illuminated Booker’s bloody face and the man took a step backwards.  “Jesus Christ!” he exclaimed loudly.

Unconcerned by the man’s reaction, Booker gazed up with beseeching eyes.  “Please help my _Daddy_.”

**

_6 a.m. Christmas morning_

The loud incessant ringing of the telephone woke Tom from a deep, dream-filled sleep.  His hand thrashed around wildly until it finally connected with the receiver and he lifted it to his ear.  “Hanson,” he muttered sleepily.

Doug’s excited voice yelled down the phone.  “Tommy!  You’re never gonna believe it!  He’s been found!  Booker’s been found!”

The receiver slipped from Tom’s fingers and fell with a clatter to the floor.  He could still hear Penhall’s frantic voice calling to him, _“Tommy?  Tommy?  Are you there?  Tommy!”_ but he was unable to move, unable to answer him.  Time stood still and as his mind processed the information, tears filled his eyes, blurring his vision.  

He had received the ultimate Christmas present; Booker was alive and he naïvely thought that meant everything would be all right. 

But little did he know, it was just the beginning of a very long journey.  



	16. Beautiful Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Previously: 6 a.m. Christmas morning_
> 
> _The loud incessant ringing of the telephone woke Tom from a deep, dream-filled sleep. His hand thrashed around wildly until it finally connected with the receiver and he lifted it to his ear. “Hanson,” he muttered sleepily._
> 
> _Doug’s excited voice yelled down the phone. “Tommy! You’re never gonna believe it! He’s been found! Booker’s been found!”_
> 
> _The receiver slipped from Tom’s fingers and fell with a clatter to the floor. He could still hear Penhall’s frantic voice calling to him, “Tommy? Tommy? Are you there? Tommy!” but he was unable to move, unable to answer him. Time stood still and as his mind processed the information, tears filled his eyes, blurring his vision._
> 
> _He had received the ultimate Christmas present; Booker was alive and he naïvely thought that meant everything would be all right._
> 
> _But little did he know, it was just the beginning of a very long journey._

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35590683440/in/album-72157683140201352/)

**Beautiful Broken**

Pacing the hospital waiting room, Tom felt an overwhelming sense of familiarity wash over him and he shivered in spite of the temperate conditions.  It seemed like only yesterday he had paced the same hospital floors, desperate for news on Booker’s condition and he half expected to see Doctor Langley emerge from one of the exam rooms.  However, in an eerie coincidence, it had actually been thirty-one weeks to the day since that fateful night... not that he was keeping count of course. 

But no matter how long it had been, one thing remained the same; he once again found himself playing the waiting game.  Sitting down on one of the plastic chairs, he leaned forward and propping his elbows on his knees, he laced his fingers together and stared dejectedly at the floor.  Now that he was no longer a police officer, he wielded no power and he felt frustrated and impotent.  In hindsight, he wished that he had not refused Doug’s offer to come to the hospital with him but it was Christmas Day and he knew his friend had plans with his _on again, off again_ girlfriend, Dorothy.  If Doug had been there, he might at least have been able to gain some information.  But as his mother was so fond of saying, _if wishes were horses then beggars would ride._   Doug was _not_ there and therefore, he would just have to remain patient and wait until a doctor came to speak to him.

His thoughts returned to Booker and when he eventually lifted his gaze to the round clock hanging on the cream painted wall, he realized he had been sitting for nearly two hours.  Standing up, he braced his hands against his aching back and stretched out his muscles.  He had a sudden craving for coffee and reaching into his pockets, he pulled out some coins and mentally counted them.  He had left in such a hurry he had forgotten his wallet and he hoped he had enough for at least one cup.  As he headed off in search of a coffee machine, he passed a doctor dressed in blue scrubs and carrying a clipboard, and on a whim, he reached out a hand and touched his arm.  “Excuse me, do you have any news on a Dennis Booker who was brought in several hours ago?”

The doctor looked down at his notes before looking back at Tom.  “Mister Hanson?” he queried.

Tom let out an audible sigh of relief.  “Yes,” he replied quickly.  “I’m Tom Hanson.  Please, can you tell me how he is?”

The young doctor’s eyes shone with empathy.  “Let’s take a seat,” he suggested and without waiting for Tom to answer, he strode into the waiting room and sat down.

Chewing nervously on his lower lip, Tom followed the doctor and sat on the edge of the seat next to him.  When he spoke, he found it difficult to keep his voice steady.  “Is he going to be okay?”

Doctor Jones balanced the clipboard on his knees and gave Tom a sympathetic look. “You need to be prepared, your friend has sustained some terrible injures and psychologically, he appears to have suffered a breakdown.”

Tom blinked back the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes and clenching his hands into tight fists, he struggled to gain control of his emotions.  “Has he said anything?”

The doctor’s expression became serious.  “Actually, before he was sedated, he screamed the same thing over and over again.”

Fear gripped at Tom’s heart.  “What was he saying?” he asked in a trembling voice.

Jones read the words from his notes.  “ _Please help my Daddy._   Do you know what that means?”

The tears he had tried so hard to conceal finally brimmed over and trickled down Tom’s cheeks.  “Yes,” he murmured, “he’s not talking about his father.  I’m pretty sure _Daddy_ refers to the man he’s been living with for the last four months… the same man he willing allowed to abuse him.”

Doctor Jones’ hazel eyes widened in shock.  “ _Willingly_ allowed to abuse him?” he echoed and getting up from his seat, he gazed down at Tom.  “I think you and I need to talk.”

**

An hour later, after explaining everything to Doctor Jones, Tom let out a weary sigh.  “If it’s okay, I’d really like to see Dennis now.”

Doctor Jones narrowed his eyes.  “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

Tom’s eyebrows raised in surprise.  “Why not?  I won’t disturb him, I just want to see him for a few minutes, that’s all.”

Pushing his notes to one side, Jones gave Tom a measured look.  “Are you sure you’re ready to see the man who raped you Tom?”

The doctor’s words cut Tom like a knife and his heart began to pound in his chest.  “No,” he admitted in a shaky voice, “I’m not sure I am.  But I _need_ to see him and I can deal with my feelings later.”  When Jones remained silent, he leaned forward in his chair and stared at him beseechingly.  “Please,” he implored softly.

Jones exhaled heavily.  “Okay, but just for a minute.  As I said, he’s been prescribed sedatives to keep him calm and help him with his drug withdrawal so be prepared, he may not know you’re there.”

“Drug withdrawal?” Tom parroted in bewilderment.  “He’s been _using?”_

Doctor Jones nodded his head.  “According to the toxicology report, he had traces of cocaine, heroin and methamphetamine in his system.  To be honest, it’s surprising he didn’t die of a drug overdose.”

Sweat beaded on Tom’s brow and his dark eyes filled with pain.  With every new piece of information he received, his heart plummeted.  Booker was not only going to have to deal with the psychological aspects of submitting to rape and torture, he was also going to have to deal with the _physical_ aspects of drug withdrawal.  It was just another setback to add to the list that would ultimately impede his recovery.

Sensing Tom’s despair, Gareth Jones stood up and walking around his desk, he perched on the edge and gave an encouraging smile.  “I know it all sounds rather hopeless, but with the right help, Dennis should be able to put all of this behind him and start a new life.”

Tom immediately noticed the doctor’s slip of the tongue and he began to chew furiously on his lower lip.  “ _Should_ be able to?” he asked in a raised voice.  “Does that mean he might _not_ recover from what happened to him?”

Realizing his mistake, the doctor quickly tried to reassure Tom.  “That’s not what I meant.  Many men and women who have been subjected to the same level of trauma as Dennis go on to live—”

“And many don’t,” Tom stated in a flat voice.  

Jones let out a heavy sigh.  “Yes,” he conceded.  “Many don’t.  But it’s too early to say which category Dennis will fall into.”

Running a trembling hand through his hair, Tom spoke in a barely audible voice.  “And if he doesn’t recover, what then?”

Not wanting to alarm Tom more than he already had, Doctor Jones gave a small smile.  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.  For the moment, we need to concentrate on keeping Dennis as comfortable as possible and tomorrow, a team of doctors will meet to discuss his treatment.”  Seeing Tom’s disheartened expression, he widened his smile and stood up.  “Come on, I’ll take you up to see him.”

Too emotionally drained to push the matter further, Tom nodded his head and silently followed the doctor through the hospital corridors until they finally stopped outside a private room on the third floor.  He waited patiently as Jones spoke to the senior nurse, his heart rate steadily increasing at the knowledge that after four months, he was finally going to see the man who had raped him.

He jumped slightly when a hand rested on his shoulder and turning around, he gave Gareth Jones a small smile.  “Sorry, I guess I’m a little anxious.”

The doctor returned an understanding smile.  “You’ll be fine.  Just remember, he’s been through a heck of a lot and his appearance may shock you.”

Tom thought back to when he had found Booker in the basement and taking a deep, calming breath, he exhaled slowly and rubbed his sweaty palms nervously down the front of his jeans.  “It’s okay,” he replied softly, “I’ve seen just about every horror you can imagine.”

Following Jones into the room, he stopped a few feet from the bed and waited patiently as the doctor attended to Booker.  From his vantage point, he could not see Booker’s face but he was shocked when he heard him speak and his anxiety immediately intensified.  He had expected Booker to be sedated or asleep but it was obvious that he was very much awake and aware of his surroundings.  This was not the scenario he had expected and a lump formed in his throat.  He was about to face Booker for the first time since his rape and now that it was a reality, he was not sure that he was ready to deal with the emotion.

Realizing that he had clenched his hands into such tight fists that his fingernails were biting into his palms, he quickly unfurled them and spread out his fingers.  For a fraction of a moment, he considered turning around and walking out of the room but as his mind struggled with his dilemma, he heard Doctor Jones’ voice telling Dennis he had a visitor and he knew it was too late to do anything but face up to his fear.

When Jones stepped back from the bed, Tom got his first clear glimpse of Booker.  His heart leaped into his throat and his hands immediately balled back into tight fists.  Booker’s face was deathly pale, dark shadows circled his eyes and several bruises adorned his chin.  However, what shocked Tom the most were the deep jagged cuts that crisscrossed Booker’s once smooth and flawless chest.  Painful looking burns surrounded each bloody wound, all of which were in various stages of healing and the sight reminded him of the body of a dead prostitute he had encountered in an alleyway not long after graduating from the academy.  Hot bile rose in his throat and sweat prickled his top lip.  His once beautiful Dennis had become a psychopath’s sadistic artwork, a ripped and bloody canvas born from a demented hand.  The reality of what Dennis must have endured hit him hard and swaying unsteadily on his feet, the thought he had been trying desperately to suppress popped into his mind; _what kind of man willingly allowed himself to be systematically abused in such a depraved manner?_

A loud distressed moan brought him back to the present and regaining his focus, he saw Booker’s wide terrified eyes staring up at him.  “Dennis,” he murmured shakily and stepping forward, he attempted to smile.  “It’s me, it’s Tom.”

Booker cowered away in fear.  “No, no, no,” he moaned, his voice rising steadily higher.  “You’re not real!  I killed you!  I _KILLED_ you!”

Doctor Jones glanced quickly at Tom before stepping forward and laying a reassuring hand on Booker’s shoulder.  “No Dennis, this is _Tom_.  You remember Tom, you worked together.”

“NO!” Dennis screamed and thrashing violently in his bed, he began to tear at his hair.  “I _KILLED_ TOM!  I RAPED HIM AND KILLED HIM!  HE’S DEAD!  HE’S _DEAD!”_   

Fearing that Dennis might hurt himself, Doctor Jones quickly restrained him and pressed the emergency button above the bed.  “Leave!” he yelled at Tom and turning his attention back to Dennis, he spoke to him in a comforting tone.  “It’s okay Dennis, it’s okay.  There’s nothing to be afraid of, you’re safe, no one can hurt you here.”

Horrified by what he had just witnessed, Tom backed away towards the door and almost collided with two nurses.  “I’m sorry,” he muttered before a wave of nausea overwhelmed him and clamping a hand over his mouth he ran from the room.

**

Leaning heavily on the hand basin in the men’s room, Tom scooped a handful of water into his mouth.  As the cool liquid soothed his raw throat, he closed his eyes and attempted to push the sound of Dennis’ terrified screams from his mind.  In his desperation to see his friend, he had inadvertently brought about more distress, although he could never have predicted that his presence would cause such a level of anguish.  He had no idea why Booker thought he was dead but he put it down to his deluded state of mind.  However, now that he knew what he was dealing with, he would have to keep his distance until a psychologist had spoken to him, otherwise he was in danger of causing more damage to an already broken mind.

Turning off the faucet, he lifted his head and swiped the back of his hand over his mouth.  Booker had suffered four months of unspeakable abuse and after witnessing his hysterical outburst, Tom doubted if he would ever again be the man he had fallen in love with.  



	17. Dear Loneliness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Previously: Leaning heavily on the hand basin in the men’s room, Tom scooped a handful of water into his mouth.  As the cool liquid soothed his raw throat, he closed his eyes and attempted to push the sound of Dennis’ terrified screams from his mind.  In his desperation to see his friend, he had inadvertently brought about more distress, although he could never have predicted that his presence would cause such a level of anguish.  He had no idea why Booker thought he was dead but he put it down to his deluded state of mind.  However, now that he knew what he was dealing with, he would have to keep his distance until a psychologist had spoken to him, otherwise he was in danger of causing more damage to an already broken mind._
> 
> _Turning off the faucet, he lifted his head and swiped the back of his hand over his mouth.  Booker had suffered four months of unspeakable abuse and after witnessing his hysterical outburst, Tom doubted if he would ever again be the man he had fallen in love with._

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35590683270/in/album-72157683140201352/)

**Dear Loneliness**

_Six weeks later_

Doctor Alexander Giebelhouse peered at Booker over the rim of his glasses.  “You need to start working with me Dennis, otherwise you’ll never get well.”

Booker’s eyes remained fixed on the floor.  “Maybe I don’t _want_ to get well,” he mumbled.

Giebelhouse leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his broad chest.  “If that’s true Dennis, I’ll have no choice but to recommend that we obtain an Involuntary Commitment Order and once in place, that could mean you don’t leave here for a very long time.  Do you understand what I’m telling you?  You’re here under evaluation at the moment, but all that could change with the stroke of a judge’s pen.”

Dennis remained motionless for several minutes before lifting his head and staring at the doctor with lifeless eyes.  “What was the question?” he asked in a flat voice.

The doctor sighed in frustration.  Dennis Booker was a difficult patient and in the five weeks he had been at the Rosewood Psychiatric Facility, he had made little progress.  His treatment had been somewhat impeded by the intense side effects of his drug withdrawal but despite that, Giebelhouse had hoped that they would be further along with their therapy sessions and it annoyed him that Dennis refused to cooperate.  He was not used to dealing with insolence; most of his patients were desperate to get well so they could start their lives afresh, but not the man sitting in front of him.  Dennis had remained stubbornly tight-lipped throughout most of their sessions and when he did speak, he was mostly monosyllabic and reticent about discussing his feelings.

Picking up his notebook, Giebelhouse repeated his question in an emotionless voice.  “Do you become aroused when men touch you in an intimate way or is it the pain they inflict that you enjoy?” 

Dennis’ face flushed red and lowering his head, he picked nervously at a scab on his arm.  “Both,” he muttered in a soft voice.

Giebelhouse scribbled in his notebook before continuing.  “Did you have homosexual tendencies _before_ your first rape?”

Shaking his head, Dennis stared at the blood that was beginning to seep to the surface of his damaged skin.  “No,” he mumbled.  “I only liked women.”

Putting down his pen, Giebelhouse studied Booker’s bowed head.  “So _after_ you were raped by Maurice Keppler and the other men, you started lusting after males and _that’s_ why you raped Tom Hanson, is that what you’re telling me?”

Booker’s body began to tremble uncontrollably and he wrapped his arms protectively across his chest.  “No,” he murmured.  “I only started to enjoy it after I found _Da_ — I mean Keppler, at the cabin.”

“So why did you rape Tom?” Giebelhouse asked bluntly.

When he eventually lifted his head, tears glistened in Booker’s pain-filled eyes.  “I don’t know,” he choked.

Pleased that he was finally starting to make progress, Giebelhouse continued his questioning in an impassive voice.  “But to rape him, you had to be aroused, isn’t that right?”

Wiping at his nose with the back of his hand, Booker gave an almost unperceivable nod.  “Yes, but… you don’t understand, he came on to me and—”

“ _Tom Hanson_ came on to you?” Giebelhouse asked in a disbelieving voice.  “Are you sure it wasn’t you who became aroused when you saw Tom in a state of undress?”

“NO!” Dennis yelled and jumping to his feet, he began to frantically pace the small room.  “That’s _NOT_ what happened!  He told me I was beautiful and it brought back all these unwanted memories and—”

Doctor Giebelhouse pressed the silent alarm under his desk and slowly rose to his feet.  “Dennis, I need you to calm dow—”

Booker lunged forward and grabbing the front of Giebelhouse’s shirt, he began to yell into the terrified man's face.  “I DON’T _WANT_ TO BE CALM!  YOU WANTED ME TO TALK AND NOW YOU’RE CALLING ME A LIAR?  YOU SONOFABITCH!  YOU FUCKING SONOFA—”

The door flew open and two burly orderlies rushed forward and pulled Booker away from the frightened doctor.  Twisting his arms behind his back, they easily forced him to the floor.  

“NO!” Dennis screamed hysterically as he struggled to break free.  “DON’T TOUCH ME!  DON’T TOUCH ME!”

Alexander Giebelhouse quickly regained his composure and stepping forward, he squatted down and peered into Booker’s frightened eyes.  “I think a few hours in a straight jacket will make you see the error of your ways, don’t you Dennis?”

Dennis’ eyes bulged in fear and tears streamed down his face.  “No!  Please Doctor Giebelhouse, not that!  Please don’t put me in that thing.  I’ll be good, I’ll do whatever you ask.  I promise!  I _PROMISE!”_

“Put him in the padded room,” Giebelhouse instructed the orderlies, “but don’t sedate him.  This time I want him to remember his punishment.”

As the two men dragged Dennis kicking and screaming from the room, Giebelhouse watched silently, his face devoid of any emotion.  That would show the stubborn little ingrate who was in charge.

**

Standing naked at the barred window of his room, Booker’s tears flowed freely down his pale cheeks.  He had spent four hours in the padded room, trapped inside the bindings of the straight jacket and he was mentally and physically exhausted.  His upper body ached from the confinement, he was hungry and thirsty because he had missed dinner and his feelings of isolation only added to his deep depression.

Pressing his forehead against the cool metal bars, he reached down and stroked his flaccid cock.  It had been over a month since he had been able to obtain an erection and he wondered if his impotence was from the medication or if the abuse had finally taken its toll on his body.  He thought back to the times when _Daddy_ had held him tenderly in his arms and rewarded him for being a good boy and the flow of his tears intensified.  _Daddy_ was dead, the needle in his vein having delivered one final euphoric high before stopping his heart forever.  The police had explained to him that it was a bad batch of heroin and several deaths had occurred throughout California.  When he had asked what had happened to his _Daddy_ , the police had given him very little information except to say that a family member had claimed the body.  He had no idea where his _Daddy’s_ final resting place was but he hoped it was somewhere tranquil and that he was at peace.

Minutes passed and his thoughts turned to Tom.  Doctor Giebelhouse’s question started to echo in his mind, _so why did you rape Tom… rape Tom… rape Tom…_ and screwing his eyes closed, he stifled a sob.  It had been a shock to find out Tom was not dead but it had not taken away any of the torment he felt at the pain he had caused his friend.  He honestly had no answer to the question of why he had done what he had done except that Tom’s words had triggered something deep inside his drug-fueled brain and he had snapped.  However, it was not an excuse and he knew he would have to live with the guilt for the rest of his life, just as Tom would have to live with the violation.

With a heavy sigh, he opened his eyes and moving away from the window, he lay down on the hard narrow bed.  His hand remained wrapped around his cock and although he was not aroused, it gave him some measure of comfort.  He missed the sexual stimulation and pain that defined his existence because without it, he did not know who he was anymore.  Dennis Booker the son, the brother and the police officer no longer existed.  He was a hollow representation of his former self; he was a body without a soul and he was devoid of the range of emotions that made him feel connected.

He was empty.

Closing his fingers slowly together, he squeezed his limp cock.  A sharp jolt of pain flooded through his nerves and he gasped in pleasure as his body came alive.  But it was not enough and using his free hand, he began to pick at a large jagged wound across his stomach that had never completely healed.  Ripping off the scab, he felt warm blood coating his fingertips and he sighed contentedly.  He may not be able to give himself the sexual satisfaction he yearned but he could still inflict a certain amount of pain and as a rush of endorphins coursed through his body, he came to a decision.  He needed to get out of Rosewood because then, and only then, would he find the masochistic gratification his body craved. 

**

_Two weeks later_

A cool breeze ruffled Tom’s hair and zipping up his jacket, he slammed the car door closed and walked the short distance to Penhall’s apartment.   Since their discussion at the bowling alley nearly three months before, they had set aside every Friday night so they could spend time together repairing their shattered friendship.  It had taken time, but slowly the trust had returned and once again, they viewed each other as best friends.  

When Penhall opened his apartment door, he greeted Tom with a wide smile.  “Hey Hanson, how’s things?”

Tom returned the smile and walking into the apartment, he shrugged out of his jacket and threw it onto a chair.  “Can’t complain.  You?”

Doug closed the door and walking into the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator and took out two beers.  “Busy,” he replied and pulling off the tops, he handed Tom a bottle and sat down.  

Nodding his head, Tom took a seat on the couch and sipped his beer.  He tried not to think about it too much but he missed working with Penhall at the Chapel and sometimes he wondered if he had made the right decision leaving the police force.  Although he had left so he could devote more time searching for Booker, as fate would have it, it was a random motorist who had found his friend, not him and therefore, his resignation had been in vain.  However, he was too stubborn and too proud to admit he had made a mistake and so he carried on working part-time at the alley whilst trying to build up his business.

Not wanting to talk about the Jump Street program, he remained silent as he nervously picked at the edge of the label on his beer bottle.  He desperately needed to talk to Doug but he honestly did not know how his friend would react to the news he was about to tell him.  As the minutes slowly passed in awkward silence, his nervousness increased and just as he was about to speak, Penhall let out a heavy sigh.  “Tommy, what’s wrong?”

Lifting his head, Tom’s mouth twitched nervously.  “I want to talk to you about something but I need you to hear me out before you start yelling.”

A frown creased Penhall’s brow but he remained calm.  “O- _kay_ ,” he replied slowly.   “So what’s on your mind?”

Tom took a large swallow of beer and placing the bottle down on the coffee table, he leaned forward and gave his friend an apprehensive smile.  “I received a phone call from the Rosewood Psychiatric Facility.  Booker’s being discharged.”

Penhall’s eyes widened in surprise.  “Jesus, he’s been in there less than two months!  Do they really think he’s ready to come out?” he asked incredulously.

Leaning back against the couch cushions, Tom wiped his hand nervously across his mouth.  “The doctor I spoke to said he’s made real progress in the last couple of weeks.  Also, they can only keep him in there for eight weeks, any longer than that and they need to get a Commitment Order signed by a judge.”

“But is he ready to be released?” Doug repeated obstinately.  “Because from where I’m sitting, he was pretty screwed up.” 

Shrugging his shoulders, Tom let out a weary sigh.  “I s’pose so, I mean they wouldn’t let him out otherwise, right?”

Doug was not so sure but he kept his opinion to himself.  He knew how much Booker’s recovery meant to Tom and he did not want to put a dampener on his happy news.  “Well, as long as he’s okay I guess it’s good news.  So, is he moving back in with his parents?”

A soft pink colored Tom’s cheeks and lowering his eyes, his legs began to jig nervously up and down.  “Actually, I told the doctor he could come and live with me,” he replied softly.

“ _WHAT?!_ ” Doug exploded.  “Are you fucking insane?  For Christ’s sake Hanson, he raped you!”

Tom’s lower lip pushed out into a soft pout.  “You said you wouldn’t yell,” he muttered in a petulant voice.

Taking a deep breath, Doug clenched his fists and attempted to rein in his anger.  "You’re right and I’m sorry but Tommy, this is crazy.  You can’t have him living with you, not after what he did.”

Raking his fingers through his hair, Tom let out a sigh.  “I know it _sounds_ crazy, but Doug, he hasn’t got anybody else.  His family has deserted him because they don’t understand why he voluntarily went back to Keppler.  If he doesn’t come and live with me, he’ll have to go in a group home and he’ll never get his life back.”

Leaning forward in his chair, Doug gave Tom a penetrating glare.  “Do _you_ understand why he went back to Keppler?” he asked pointedly.  “Because I sure as hell don’t.”

“Yes,” Tom replied stubbornly.  “I understand _completely_.”

“Really?” Doug snorted derisively.  “Dazzle me with your insight _Doctor_ Hanson.”

Jumping to his feet, Tom glared down at Penhall.  “WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE SUCH AN ASSHOLE?” he yelled.

Penhall rose slowly to his feet and taking a step forward, he glowered back at his friend.  “Because when it comes to Booker, you think with your cock instead of your head.”

Within seconds, Tom’s fist connected with Doug’s jaw, the impact sending the larger man staggering backwards.  With an enraged yell, Doug drew back his fist but just moments before he threw the retaliating punch, his senses kicked in and lowering his arm, he stared back at Tom’s furious face.  “I think you’d better go,” he muttered in a cold voice.

Tom remained where he was standing, his chest heaving heavily and his fists clenched in readiness for battle.  But when he realized Doug was not going to attack him, all the fight left his body and turning away, he walked silently from the apartment.  



	18. All Filled up with Emptiness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Previously: Tom took a large swallow of beer and placing the bottle down on the coffee table, he leaned forward and gave his friend an apprehensive smile. “I received a phone call from the Rosewood Psychiatric Facility. Booker’s being discharged.”_
> 
> _Penhall’s eyes widened in surprise. “Jesus, he’s been in there less than two months! Do they really think he’s ready to come out?” he asked incredulously._
> 
> _Leaning back against the couch cushions, Tom wiped his hand nervously across his mouth. “The doctor I spoke to said he’s made real progress in the last couple of weeks. Also, they can only keep him in there for eight weeks, any longer than that and they need to get a Commitment Order signed by a judge.”_
> 
> _“But is he ready to be released?” Doug repeated obstinately. “Because from where I’m sitting, he was pretty screwed up.”_
> 
> _Shrugging his shoulders, Tom let out a weary sigh. “I s’pose so, I mean they wouldn’t let him out otherwise, right?”_
> 
> _Doug was not so sure but he kept his opinion to himself. He knew how much Booker’s recovery meant to Tom and he did not want to put a dampener on his happy news. “Well, as long as he’s okay I guess it’s good news. So, is he moving back in with his parents?”_
> 
> _A soft pink colored Tom’s cheeks and lowering his eyes, his legs began to jig nervously up and down. “Actually, I told the doctor he could come and live with me,” he replied softly._
> 
> _“WHAT?!” Doug exploded. “Are you fucking insane? For Christ’s sake Hanson, he raped you!”_
> 
> _Tom’s lower lip pushed out into a soft pout. “You said you wouldn’t yell,” he muttered in a petulant voice._
> 
> _Taking a deep breath, Doug clenched his fists and attempted to rein in his anger. ‘You’re right and I’m sorry but Tommy, this is crazy. You can’t have him living with you, not after what he did.”_
> 
> _Raking his fingers through his hair, Tom let out a sigh. “I know it sounds crazy, but Doug, he hasn’t got anybody else. His family has deserted him because they don’t understand why he voluntarily went back to Keppler. If he doesn’t come and live with me, he’ll have to go in a group home and he’ll never get his life back.”_
> 
> _Leaning forward in his chair, Doug gave Tom a penetrating glare. “Do you understand why he went back to Keppler?” he asked pointedly. “Because I sure as hell don’t.”_
> 
> _“Yes,” Tom replied stubbornly. “I understand completely.”_
> 
> _“Really?” Doug snorted derisively. “Dazzle me with your insight Doctor Hanson.”_
> 
> _Jumping to his feet, Tom glared down at Penhall. “WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE SUCH AN ASSHOLE?” he yelled._
> 
> _Penhall rose slowly to his feet and taking a step forward, he glowered back at his friend. “Because when it comes to Booker, you think with your cock instead of your head.”_
> 
> _Within seconds, Tom’s fist connected with Doug’s jaw, the impact sending the larger man staggering backwards. With an enraged yell, Doug drew back his fist but just moments before he threw a retaliation punch, his senses kicked in and lowering his arm, he stared back at Tom’s furious face. “I think you’d better go,” he muttered in a cold voice._
> 
> _Tom remained where he was standing, his chest heaving heavily and his fists clenched in readiness for battle. But when he realized Doug was not going to attack him, all the fight left his body and turning away, he walked silently from the apartment._   
> 

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35590683200/in/album-72157683140201352/)

**All Filled up with Emptiness**

_Three days later_

Tom paced up and down the faded blue carpet of the visitors’ room, anxiously waiting to catch his first glimpse of Booker.  His stomach was a tight knot of nerves and for the umpteenth time, he wondered if he was doing the right thing.  Doug’s words had unsettled him and he could not get the thought out of his mind that maybe he was helping Dennis for all the wrong reasons.  He could not deny it, he was still attracted to him, even after the violence of the rape and he spent many nights jerking off with the image of Dennis’ face in his mind.  It was disconcerting knowing that he could still love a man who had violated him in such a brutal way and yet, deep down, he knew the man who had raped him was not the _real_ Dennis Booker.  Dennis had been on a knife’s edge, drowning in his own psychological confusion and no one around him had the sense to realize it, including him.  He regretted it now and he wished he had recognized the signs of a man spiraling dangerously out of control.  Looking back, he wondered how he could have been so obtuse but if he was honest with himself, he knew the real reason why.  He had _wanted_ Dennis to be okay and therefore, he had dismissed all the telltale signs that indicated he was _anything_ but okay.  It was his own selfishness, the need to have Dennis in his life, if only as a working partner that had prevented him from acknowledging what was right in front of his face; a man who was severely psychologically damaged and using drugs and alcohol to mask his pain.

Sighing heavily, he moved over to the window and stared out at the vast expanse of lawn that bordered each side of Rosewood’s long winding driveway.  He thought back to the moment when he had brushed Dennis’ damp hair from his face and told him he was beautiful because it was at that precise moment both their lives had changed.  He struggled with the guilt of that knowledge every day and he knew now it was not a slip of the tongue, he had _meant_ to say it because he _needed_ Dennis to know how he felt; his egotism had been his downfall.  If he had kept his mouth shut and accepted that he and Dennis would never be anything more than friends, both their lives would be very different. 

At the sound of approaching footsteps, he turned around and faced the door.   Seconds later, Doctor Giebelhouse strode in and for a moment, Tom thought he was alone.  Then, a solitary figure shuffled through the doorway, his dark head bowed in submission and his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans, as though accepting of his fate.  

Tears sprang to Tom’s eyes at the sight of a once proud man reduced to a subservient zombie and rushing forward, he started to speak when the doctor held up a dismissive hand.  “First things first Mister Hanson.  I believe Dennis has something he wants to say to you.”

Tom stared back at the doctor in confusion.  “Um, okay.”

Giebelhouse took Dennis by the arm and pulled him forward until he was standing opposite Tom.  “Go ahead Dennis,” he instructed.

Booker continued to stare at the floor before mumbling, “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

A physical pain stabbed at Tom’s heart and stepping forward, he started to tell Booker it was okay but once again, Giebelhouse interrupted him.  “No, no, no Dennis!  You’re sorry you _raped_ Tom.  _Raped!_   You have to acknowledge what you did.”

Not wanting to put Booker through any undue stress, Tom ignored the doctor and smiling reassuringly, he reached out a hand and placed it on his friend's arm.  “It’s okay Dennis, I know you didn’t mean—”

“ _Mister_ Hanson!” Giebelhouse admonished in a harsh voice.  “We have set procedures that our patients must adhere to and acknowledgement of one’s past _indiscretions_ is paramount to their recovery.  So please, allow Dennis to continue.”

Tom could feel his anger rising but he quickly pushed it aside and stepping back, he forced a smile.  “Of course Doctor Giebelhouse,” he replied through gritted teeth, “you know best.”

Giebelhouse ignored the sarcasm in Tom’s voice and turning towards Booker, he prodded him in the arm.  “Dennis,” he prompted, “I want you to look Tom in the eye and tell him you’re sorry.”

Seconds ticked by before Dennis lifted his head and Tom finally caught a glimpse of the man who haunted his dreams.  Dark hair framed a gaunt, pale face and two dull eyes stared lifelessly back at him.  Suppressing a gasp of shock, he managed a faltering smile as tears filled his eyes.  “Oh Dennis,” he whispered sadly.

If Booker heard the pain in Tom’s voice, he did not acknowledge it; instead, he continued to stare vacantly in front of him.  “I’m sorry I raped you,” he muttered in a flat voice.

Overwhelmed by the bizarre apology, Tom did not know how to react and he unwillingly turned to Giebelhouse for support.  “Do you accept Dennis’ apology?” Giebelhouse asked him in an officious tone.

Turning back to Dennis, Tom took a deep breath and tried to relax.  “Yes,” he murmured, “of course I do.”  When Booker lowered his gaze, he stepped forward and this time he managed a genuine smile.  “Oh God Dennis, it’s so good to see you.”

Dennis raised his head and stared back at Tom with dead eyes.  “Is it?” he asked impassively.

The meeting was not going as Tom had envisioned and he rubbed a nervous hand over his mouth.  Doctor Giebelhouse had led him to believe that Dennis was psychologically stable but from what Tom had witnessed in the few short minutes they had been together, he was far from it.  He appeared detached, almost unaware of what was going on around him and with each passing minute, Tom became more concerned.

Desperate to connect with the man standing so lost and vulnerable in front of him, Tom reached out and placed his hand on Dennis’ shoulder.  “Of course I am,” he replied in a soft voice. 

A spark of life flashed in Dennis’ eyes.  “Why?” he muttered.  “I hurt you.  Why do you care what happens to me?”

Tom lowered his hand and chewed furiously on his lower lip as he thought about how to reply.  “Yes you did,” he finally admitted.  “But I put that behind me a long time ago.  You weren’t yourself when you…”  He paused for a moment before continuing.  “…raped me.  _I_ know that and you should too.  We were friends and _that’s_ —”

The sound of Doctor Giebelhouse deliberately clearing his throat interrupted his speech and turning around he glared at the portly man.  “What?” he snapped irritably.

“It’s time for Dennis’ medication,” the doctor replied in a cold voice.

“That’s _it?”_ Tom exclaimed in frustration.  “You tell me to come down here so Dennis and I can reconnect and all we get is five minutes together?  That’s fucking bullshit!”

Giebelhouse gave Tom an icy stare.  “I’m sorry if we’ve _inconvenienced_ you, but we have a tight schedule here at Rosewood and—”

“Bullshit!” Tom spat back.  “You planned it this way so that we wouldn’t have any time together!”

A cruel smile played over Giebelhouse’s lips.  “This is an _evaluation_ Mister Hanson.  You’d do well to play by the rules or I might decide that Dennis would be better off in a group home.”

Tom felt a deep seething hatred towards the middle-aged man and clenching his fists, he fought to control his emotions.  Giebelhouse had the upper hand and as much as he hated to bow down to such a sanctimonious prick, if he wanted Dennis to live with him, he knew he had no choice but to capitulate.  “When can I visit again?” he asked in a strained voice.

“Tomorrow at eleven,” Giebelhouse replied curtly and turning dismissively away, he addressed Booker. “Come on Dennis, it’s time to go.”

The small spark had once again faded from Dennis’ eyes and he stared emotionlessly at Tom.  “Thanks for coming,” he muttered.

Acting impulsively, Tom stepped forward and pulled his friend into a clumsy hug.  He felt Dennis’ body stiffen and letting go, he stepped back and gave him a sad smile.  “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Booker nodded and turning away, he followed Doctor Giebelhouse from the room.

**

As darkness fell and shadows shrouded his tiny room, Booker sat on the bed and tried to clear his muddled mind.  The medication Doctor Giebelhouse had prescribed over the last few weeks had affected him differently to his previous medication and he felt as though he was in a permanent state of confusion.  He tried to think back to his meeting with Tom but his mind was fuzzy and he could not trust that his memories were real.  It puzzled him that the doctor had changed his medication when he thought he had managed to convince him he was feeling better and therefore, ready to be released.  Not that he cared, the drugs helped him to stay calm and staying calm would prove that he was ready to leave Rosewood.  Of course, even _he_ knew he was not ready to face the big wide world.  He was still depressed and disconnected but his pretense was a means to an end.  He needed to get out of Rosewood so he could find someone to give him what his mind and body desperately craved; pain, humiliation and sexual stimulation.

Drawing his legs up to his chest, he closed his eyes and resting his forehead on his knees, he dreamed about his _Daddy_.

**

Tom lay in bed staring glumly up at the ceiling.  His short visit to the Rosewood facility had depressed him and once again, a nagging voice whispered in his ear that he was doing the wrong thing by offering to take Booker into his home.  He could not deny it, Booker’s behavior did not appear to be that of a stable man and he still could not figure out why Giebelhouse had orchestrated such a short visit.  The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that Giebelhouse had another agenda.  What exactly that agenda could be, he had no idea but something did not seem right.

Sighing heavily, he rolled over and stared at the red luminous numbers of the digital clock on his bedside table.  He was due to meet a potential client in four hours but he now wished he had canceled the appointment.  His mind was too consumed with thoughts of Dennis to concentrate on someone else’s problems.

Rolling back over, he closed his eyes and tried to relax but images of Dennis’ tortured eyes continued to plague him throughout the rest of the night.

**

_The following morning_

Doctor Giebelhouse sat in his office and read the previous night’s patient reports.  As per his instruction, Dennis had received hourly checks and he smiled to himself when he read that his patient had not had a peaceful night’s sleep.  Despite Booker’s beliefs to the contrary, he was well aware that he was being played.  Dennis was no further forward in his treatment than he had been a month ago and Giebelhouse had met with his colleagues to discuss obtaining an Involuntary Commitment Order to keep him in Rosewood indefinitely.  However, his colleagues had disagreed and without at least one other doctor’s signature, he could not file the paperwork.  

But as far as he was concerned, that was not the end of the story.  There was no way in hell some little shit was going to make a fool out of him and therefore, he had upped the dosage of medication so that when it was decreased, Dennis’ symptoms would appear more pronounced.  Once his colleagues witnessed the decline in Dennis’ mental state, they would have no choice but to agree that he needed further intense treatment and then they would submit the paperwork to a judge who, if in agreement, would sign the order to keep him at Rosewood for another two months, if not longer.  

Closing the file, he leaned back in his chair, clasped his hands behind his head and thought back to the previous day’s meeting.  Tom Hanson was his pawn and he was counting on him to question Dennis’ suitability to be released.  He knew his plan might fail but he was determined to try, not because ethically he was worried about sending a psychologically unpredictable man back into the community, but because he found Dennis' case so fascinating, he did not want to lose the opportunity to study him further.  



	19. Road to Ruin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **By now, I had hoped to have Dennis safely ensconced in Tom's arms, but once again, my story has detoured in a different direction to what I had originally intended. But rest assured, the comfort will begin very soon.**
> 
> **OpenPage xx**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Previously: Doctor Giebelhouse sat in his office and read the previous night’s patient reports.  As per his instruction, Dennis had received hourly checks and he smiled to himself when he read that his patient had not had a peaceful night’s sleep.  Despite Booker’s beliefs to the contrary, he was well aware that he was being played.  Dennis was no further forward in his treatment than he had been a month ago and Giebelhouse had met with his colleagues to discuss obtaining an Involuntary Commitment Order to keep him in Rosewood indefinitely.  However, his colleagues had disagreed and without at least one other doctor’s signature, he could not file the paperwork._
> 
> _But as far as he was concerned, that was not the end of the story.  There was no way in hell some little shit was going to make a fool out of him and therefore, he had upped the dosage of medication so that when it was decreased, Dennis’ symptoms would appear more pronounced.  Once his colleagues witnessed the decline in Dennis’ mental state, they would have no choice but to agree that he needed further intense treatment and then they would submit the paperwork to a judge who, if in agreement, would sign the order to keep him at Rosewood for another two months, if not longer._
> 
> _Closing the file, he leaned back in his chair, clasped his hands behind his head and thought back to the previous day’s meeting.  Tom Hanson was his pawn and he was counting on him to question Dennis’ suitability to be released.  He knew his plan might fail but he was determined to try, not because ethically he was worried about sending a psychologically unpredictable man back into the community, but because he found Dennis' case so fascinating, he did not want to lose the opportunity to study him further._

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35590683100/in/album-72157683140201352/)

**Road to Ruin**  

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Booker’s legs jigged nervously up and down as he waited for Doctor Giebelhouse to escort him to the visitors’ room so he could meet with Tom.  He felt sick to his stomach and he was unable to control the tremors that had appeared out of nowhere and now wracked his body.  Glancing up at the clock mounted on the wall above his bed, he could feel his anxiety levels rising as he watched the second hand tick slowly around the dial.  He should have had his medication by now and he wondered if the nurse had forgotten him.  Sweat beaded on his upper lip and he wiped it away with trembling fingers.  He knew if he did not get his medication soon, he would not be in a fit state to see Tom.

Hearing footsteps outside his room, he jumped to his feet in anticipation.  A sigh of relief escaped his lips when Giebelhouse walked in carrying a paper cup filled with water.  “Here’s your pill Dennis,” the doctor greeted in a low voice.

Booker reached out a shaky hand and grabbing the small white tablet, he ignored the water and swallowed it down with a gulp.  “Where are the others?” he asked in a high-pitched voice.  

A cruel smile twitched at Giebelhouse’s lips.  “You only get one today Dennis.”

Dennis could feel himself starting to panic.  “Why?  You can’t just cut my medication like that!  I need it!  What kind of doctor are you?!”

Giebelhouse stepped forward and gave Booker a menacing look.  “A highly trained one and if you _ever_ query my methods again, you’ll regret it because I have a feeling you and I are going to be working together for a very long time.  Understood?”

Dennis’ dark eyes flickered with fear.  “Yes,” he whispered and it was then that he knew Giebelhouse had a plan to keep him at Rosewood.  However, even though his skin crawled and his mind screamed for the drugs he had been denied, he was determined not to go down without a fight.  Drawing himself up to his full height, he clenched his fists and stared unwaveringly back at the doctor.  “It’s time for my visit.”

Somewhat taken aback by Booker’s tenacity, Giebelhouse nodded his head and turning away, he walked from the room.  Dennis took several deep breaths before following and as he wound through the maze of corridors, he struggled to control the tremors that had taken hold of his body.  He was terrified that when Tom saw him, he would have second thoughts and refuse to take him home and if that happened, he was trapped.

Arriving at the visitors’ room, he saw Giebelhouse talking to Tom and as he neared the two men, he heard the doctor say, “I have to warn you, he’s behaving rather erratically today.”

Every fiber of Booker’s being screamed at him to rush forward and yell at the doctor that he was a lying sack of shit, but he knew if he did, he was digging his own grave.  Instead, he bit down hard on his lower lip and walked slowly into the room.

Tom’s eyes lit up when he saw Dennis, but his expression became concerned when he registered the agitation he was clearly trying to mask.  Glancing warily at Doctor Giebelhouse, he made the decision not to say anything until he and Booker were alone.  “Hey Dennis,” he greeted with a smile.

Dennis managed a small smile back.  “Hey Hanson,” he murmured.

When Doctor Giebelhouse made no effort to leave, Tom stepped forward and stared him straight in the eye.  “I’d like to speak to Dennis alone.”

Giebelhouse’s eyes twitched nervously.  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.  As you can see, Dennis is clearly agitated and—”

Tom took another step forward and narrowed his eyes.  “I said, I’d like… to speak… to Dennis… _alone_.”

Surprised to find Tom such a formidable foe, Giebelhouse stepped backwards and ran a trembling hand over his mouth.  “As you wish,” he stated in a shaky voice, “but you do so against my better judgment.  Dennis can be unpredictable and—”

Tired of Giebelhouse’s pathetic attempts to frighten him, Tom rolled his eyes.  “Just go.”

When the doctor finally left the room, Tom turned his attention to Dennis.  “Let’s sit down,” he suggested quietly.

Overwhelmed by what had just taken place, Dennis nodded mutely and crossing the room, he sat down on the two-seater couch.  He was surprised when Tom sat next to him instead of on the couch opposite and he instinctively shrank away.

Sadness filled Tom’s eyes.  “Don’t you want me to sit next to you?” he asked softly.

Wrapping his arms protectively around his body, Booker’s legs trembled uncontrollably.   “Sorry,” he muttered.  “It’s just… after what I did to you, I don’t understand why _you_ want to sit next to _me_.”

Tom let out a sigh of frustration.  “I _told_ you, what happened is in the past.  So let’s move forward, okay?”

Booker’s body relaxed slightly and he exhaled heavily.  “Okay,” he agreed quietly.

The two men sat in awkward silence for several minutes.  During that time, Tom studied Booker’s pale face and it was obvious to him that his friend was desperately trying to keep himself under control.  Reaching out, he laid a comforting hand on his thigh but he quickly snatched it back when Booker jumped violently at the contact.  “Jesus Dennis, I’m sorry,” he muttered.  “Is everything okay?”

Dennis closed his eyes as he struggled to control his shaking body.  He desperately wanted to tell Tom that Giebelhouse was messing with his medication but he did not trust himself to be able to do it calmly.  If he lost control of his emotions, he was worried he would scare Tom off and then he would never escape Rosewood and Doctor Giebelhouse’s clutches.

“Dennis?” Tom queried softly.

Opening his eyes, Booker turned his gaze towards Tom.  “I think he’s trying to keep me here.”

Tom’s brow knitted into a deep frown.  “What do you mean?” he asked.  

Unable to sit still any longer, Dennis stood up and started to pace the room.  “Giebelhouse,” he clarified, “he keeps changing my medication.  One minute I’m so dosed up I’m like a zombie and then he hardly gives me anything and I’m… well… I’m like this.”

Getting slowly to his feet, Tom approached Booker and reaching out, he took hold of his arm so that he stopped pacing.  “Are you telling me the truth?” he asked quietly.

Booker’s head nodded frantically up and down.  “Yes, I promise you Hanson, I’m not lying.   He’s fucking with me.”

Although he believed Booker, Tom’s judgment was also clouded by love.  He wanted Dennis home with him and there was no way in hell Giebelhouse was going to stand in his way.  “I believe you,” he muttered.  “Jesus Christ, I knew there was something off about him.”  Taking hold of Booker’s hand, he gave the fingers a reassuring squeeze.  “Don’t worry Dennis, I’ll do whatever I have to do to get you out of here.”

Tears of relief filled Dennis’ eyes and he smiled gratefully.  He knew he could count on Tom, despite everything that had happened between them and once out of Rosewood, he could begin his search for a man who would give him everything he hungered for and then he would be complete.

**

_Five days later_

Clutching his notebook against his chest, Alexander Giebelhouse strode down the dimly lit corridor.  Earlier that day, he had spoken to Rosewood’s director and he was furious that despite his best-laid plans, Tom Hanson was in the process of obtaining an _Order of Release_ from a judge.  However, he was not a man to give up easily and he had one more trick up his sleeve.  If he could not keep Dennis at Rosewood through the normal legal channels, he would give him what his mind and body so desperately craved.  Then, when Dennis begged to be allowed to stay, he would be able to continue his studies and probe further into the intriguing mind of a sex-addicted masochist.

Arriving outside Dennis’ locked door, he waited patiently until Levi Brady arrived.  Brady was an orderly, he was young, handsome and most importantly, homosexual.  He also had a cruel side and he was known to tease and humiliate the more vulnerable patients at Rosewood.  In essence, he was _exactly_ what Giebelhouse required; he would become Dennis’ new _Daddy_.

Brady strutted confidently up the corridor whistling a jaunty tune as he playfully swung a bunch of keys in his hand.  When he stopped outside Dennis’ room, he held out his hand and waited until Giebelhouse placed several fifty-dollar bills in his palm.  “Pleasure doing business with you Doc,” he smirked.  “You’re gonna make me a rich man.”

Giebelhouse scowled at the young man.  “You’ll only continue to get paid if he succumbs to your advances.  Otherwise, the deal’s off.”

Brady grinned back cockily.  “Don’t worry Doc, I know how to get his motor runnin’, he’ll be beggin’ me for more.  Trust me.”

“You do what I tell you to do, nothing more, understood?” Giebelhouse stated in a cold voice.  “If you deviate from my instructions, my research will be meaningless.  I won’t have you screwing this up for me because you can’t control your urges.  Now, do you remember what I told you?”

Searching through the bundle of keys, Brady selected the right one and inserted it in the lock.  “Yep,” he replied nonchalantly and turning the key, he looked back over his shoulder at Giebelhouse.  “Have you got voyeuristic tendencies Doc, is that why you wanna watch?” he chuckled softly.

Giebelhouse did not bother to dignify Brady’s comment with an answer and when he heard the click of the lock, he pushed past the arrogant young man and opened the door.  Moving silently across the dimly lit room, he positioned himself in a shadowy corner and nodding at Brady, he signaled for him to enter.

Brady sauntered into the room and quietly closed the door behind him.  No light shone from the waning moon but he knew the layout of the room and without hesitation, he walked directly over to the bed.  When he reached the narrow bunk, he sat down on the edge and carefully drew back the thin sheet .  Drawing in his breath, his eyes roved appreciatively over Dennis’ toned body.  In the faint light, he could not see the scars that adorned his torso but he knew they were there and his cock twitched with excitement; he was going to have some fun.

The harsh sound of Giebelhouse clearing his throat brought him back to the job at hand and reaching out, he gently caressed Dennis’ genitals through the thin cotton of his boxers.

Pulled from a troubled sleep by the tender touch, Dennis opened his eyes and stared out into the darkness.  “Who’s there?” he asked groggily, his mind confused by the unexpected stimulation.

Leaning forward, Brady placed his free hand around Booker’s neck and gave it a gentle squeeze.  “I know what you want beautiful,” he breathed against his ear, “all you have to do is ask.”

As the pressure increased around his throat, Dennis’ cock twitched to life and closing his eyes, he let out a soft moan.  It had been months since he had felt the thrill of an erection and he squirmed against the crumpled bedding as the expert hand teased him to hardness.

In the midst of his pleasure, he heard a voice speak from across the room.  “Is he becoming aroused?” 

When Brady replied in the affirmative, Dennis’ mind spun in confusion but the excitement of the stimulation coupled with the erotic feeling of the hand around his throat overrode his bewilderment and he gasped in delight.  “More,” he begged in a strangled voice.  “More!”

Brady waited for instructions and when a soft voice murmured, “Proceed,” he grinned manically and yanking down Dennis’ shorts, he tossed them onto the floor.  When Booker instinctively bent his knees and spread his legs open, he could not suppress a groan.  “Fuck,” he whispered.  “You’re one beautiful bitch.”

Dennis’ eyes grew desperate.  He yearned to feel Brady inside him and pushing his hips forward, he let out a frustrated moan.  “Please,” he beseeched.  “Make it hurt.”

Levi Brady groaned loudly but he could not continue until he received the word from his employer.  Seconds passed before Giebelhouse’s husky voice sounded from the corner.  “Use your fist.”

Keeping one hand around Dennis’ throat, Brady knelt between his open legs.  “Ready beautiful?” he whispered and without waiting for a reply, he rammed his finger into Dennis’ unprepared anus.

Equal amounts of pleasure and pain flooded through Dennis’ body and he let out a strangled cry.  His cock continued to harden as Brady inserted a second and third finger, and when the fourth finger pushed inside, he was fully erect.  Red-hot pain ripped through his lower body and he started to pant as sweat drenched his body; he was in a state of euphoria.

Looking down at the rapturous expression on Booker’s face, Brady’s grin widened.  “You’re one sick sonofabitch,” he murmured and taking a deep breath, he inserted his thumb and rotated his hand inside.

As his muscles tore and blood oozed from his anus, Dennis’ body rose off the bed and grabbing a handful of the crumpled sheet beneath him, he let out a tortured scream.  His cock lay flat against his belly, the tip weeping heavily from the stimulation.  It had been so long since his last arousal and he knew he would not last long.

Fueled by the warm sticky fluid coating his hand, and the pain in Dennis’ voice, Brady rammed his fist in and out the tight bloody hole. He felt his own erection straining against his trousers but he ignored it; it was all part of the rules, at least for the moment.

“Humiliate him,” Giebelhouse instructed in a low voice.

“Do you like that you filthy whore?” Brady teased in a menacing voice.  “Am I making you horny?”

Tears of pain streamed down Dennis’ face but through it all, his body’s receptors flooded his brain with dopamine, and an immense feeling of pleasure engulfed him.  “Yes,” he gasped, “oh God yes!”

“Then come for me you little bitch,” Brady growled.

With a yell, Dennis’ body convulsed and he ejaculated forcefully over his stomach.  Brady’s eyes flashed with excitement and grinning like a lunatic, he forced his fist deep inside Dennis’ body as his fingers squeezed against the pale column of his throat.  

As his airway closed off, Dennis’ body bucked off the mattress and moments later, he slipped into unconsciousness.

Giebelhouse stepped out of the shadows and gripping hold of his notebook, he shuddered as he watched Brady withdraw his bloody hand.  

Climbing off the bed, Brady fondled his erection through his trousers.  “So Doc, how’d I do?”

Ignoring the question, Giebelhouse’s eyes flittered towards Booker’s prone body.  “Make sure he's breathing and when he’s awake, put him in the shower and clean him up,” he instructed in a shaky voice.

Brady clicked his heels and raised his bloody hand in a mock salute.  “Yes sir!”

Revolted by the gruesome sight, Giebelhouse swallowed down the bile that had risen in his throat and hurried from the room.  



	20. Frayed Ends of Sanity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Previously: Keeping one hand around Dennis’ throat, Brady knelt between his open legs. “Ready beautiful?” he whispered and without waiting for a reply, he rammed his finger into Dennis’ unprepared anus._
> 
> _Equal amounts of pleasure and pain flooded through Dennis’ body and he let out a strangled cry. His cock continued to harden as Brady inserted a second and third finger, and when the fourth finger pushed inside, he was fully erect. Red-hot pain ripped through his lower body and he started to pant as sweat drenched his body; he was in a state of euphoria._
> 
> _Looking down at the rapturous expression on Booker’s face, Brady’s grin widened. “You’re one sick sonofabitch,” he murmured and taking a deep breath, he inserted his thumb and rotated his hand inside._
> 
> _As his muscles tore and blood oozed from his anus, Dennis’ body rose off the bed and grabbing a handful of the crumpled sheet beneath him, he let out a tortured scream. His cock lay flat against his belly, the tip weeping heavily from the stimulation. It had been so long since his last arousal and he knew he would not last long._
> 
> _Fueled by the warm sticky fluid coating his hand, and the pain in Dennis’ voice, Brady rammed his fist in and out the tight bloody hole._
> 
> _He felt his own erection straining against his trousers but he ignored it; it was all part of the rules, at least for the moment._
> 
> _“Humiliate him,” Giebelhouse instructed in a low voice._
> 
> _“Do you like that you filthy whore?” Brady teased in a menacing voice. “Am I making you horny?”_
> 
> _Tears of pain streamed down Dennis’ face but through it all, his body’s receptors flooded his brain with dopamine, and an immense feeling of pleasure engulfed him. “Yes,” he gasped, “oh God yes!”_
> 
> _“Then come for me you little bitch,” Brady growled._
> 
> _With a yell, Dennis’ body convulsed and he ejaculated forcefully over his stomach. Brady’s eyes flashed with excitement and grinning like a lunatic, he forced his fist deep inside Dennis’ body as his fingers squeezed against the pale column of his throat._
> 
> _As his airway closed off, Dennis’ body bucked off the mattress and moments later, he slipped into unconsciousness._
> 
> _Giebelhouse stepped out of the shadows and gripping hold of his notebook, he shuddered as he watched Brady withdraw his bloody hand._
> 
> _Climbing off the bed, Brady fondled his erection through his trousers. “So Doc, how’d I do?”_
> 
> _Ignoring the question, Giebelhouse’s eyes flittered towards Booker’s prone body. “Make sure he's breathing and when he’s awake, put him in the shower and clean him up,” he instructed in a shaky voice._
> 
> _Brady clicked his heels and raised his bloody hand in a mock salute. “Yes sir!”_
> 
> _Revolted by the gruesome sight, Giebelhouse swallowed down the bile that had risen in his throat and hurried from the room._

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35590683010/in/album-72157683140201352/)

**Frayed Ends of Sanity**

_Four days later_

Booker’s fingers picked nervously at the thin sheet covering his body and his ears strained to hear the sound of a key turning in his door lock.  It was this innocuous sound that for the last three nights had started his body trembling and his mind silently screaming in anticipation of what was to come.  His was a classic Pavlovian response and if Alexander Giebelhouse had known, he would have found it a fascinating premise to add to the paper he was writing.

When the soft _click_ sounded in his ears, his cock immediately twitched to life.  Every night for the last four nights, Levi Brady had entered his room and enthusiastically abused him whilst Giebelhouse stood in a corner making notes.  Deep in the recesses of his damaged mind, he knew it was wrong but he was too weak to fight against it.  This was what he wanted, this was what he had dreamed about since his _Daddy_ died, and now that he had it, he was not prepared to let it go.  He always thought he would find his nirvana _outside_ Rosewood’s walls, little did he know it was right there waiting for him.

The door pushed open and soft footsteps sounded across the room. Moments later, the thin mattress depressed and he felt warm breath against his ear. “Miss me?” Brady taunted in a low voice.

Booker's voice trembled from both fear and the thrill of expectation.  “Y-Yes."

Throwing back the covers, Brady’s eyes flashed with anger and drawing back his fist, he punched Booker in the side of the head.  “What the fuck are these bitch?” he swore as his hands grasped at the material of Booker’s boxers.  “Didn’t I tell you to sleep naked?”

Booker’s hand flew to the side of his head and he stifled a cry.  “I’m s-sorry,” he sobbed.  “I forgot.”

“Stupid ass whore,” Brady muttered under his breath and grabbing hold of the offending material, he ripped it from Booker’s body.  Once satisfied that his toy was how he wanted him, he stripped off his own clothes and knelt on the bed.  “Now pretty boy, what shall we do to you tonight?”

Booker knew it was not a question he was supposed to answer and so he continued to stare up at Brady’s face with frightened eyes.  When a rough hand squeezed his cock, he gasped as equal bursts of pleasure and pain shot through his nerve endings.  The sensation was indescribable and his body tingled from the effect.  Moments later, he felt cold steel pressing against his abdomen and looking down, he saw the glint of a knife shining in the pale light.  His eyes grew wide and he watched in fascination as Brady pressed the blade against his skin and opened up a three-inch wound just above his pubic hair.

“Shallow cuts… shallow cuts,” Brady murmured as he carved up Booker’s skin and a slow grin spread over his face when he felt the cock in his hand hardening under his ministrations.  “You like that don’t you, you twisted bastard.”

“Yesss,” Dennis breathed.

Trailing the knife slowly downwards, Brady pressed the tip against Booker's perineum and made several superficial cuts.

Closing his eyes, Booker let out a loud moan.  “Hurt me Daddy, please hurt me.”

It was the first time Booker had uttered the word _Daddy_ and Giebelhouse smiled in satisfaction.  “You may proceed,” he murmured from the shadows.

With a growl, Brady threw down the knife and roughly bent up Booker’s knees.  His cock was already rock hard and with a grunt, he positioned himself between his victim’s open legs and without any preparation, he slammed his erection inside Dennis, ripping his already damaged muscles.  Dennis’ body arched off the bed and wrapping his legs around Brady’s waist, he grabbed hold of the headboard and forced his body upward to meet every countering thrust .  

Ducking his head, Brady sank his teeth into the flesh of Dennis’ neck and bit down hard.  Dennis’ screams and the warm saltiness pooling into his mouth only fueled his desires and he rammed his cock deeper inside.  Blood seeped from Dennis’ anus, lubricating Brady’s cock and making it easier for him to penetrate deep inside the body beneath him.  He pounded his cock in an out as he sucked on the wound he had opened up on Dennis’ neck.  When he heard Dennis’ climactic scream, he lifted his head and spat blood and saliva into his victim's face as he shuddered out his own release.

The sound of heavy breathing was all that could be heard until a resounding slap echoed throughout the tiny room.  Tears stung Dennis’ eyes at the shock of being smacked across the face and staring up at Brady, he gave him an injured look.  

Levi Brady withdrew his cock and climbing slowly from the bed, he wiped the blood from his lips with his thumb.  Looking down at Dennis’ blood splattered face, he flashed him an amused smile.  “After everything I just did to you, a slap across the face is what brings tears to your eyes?  Jesus man, you’re one fucked up little whore.”

Turning his head towards the wall, Dennis allowed his tears to flow freely.  He knew what he craved was not normal, but he had no idea how to stop.

**

_The following morning_

A dull pounding pulled Doug from a deep sleep and groaning loudly, he lifted his head off the warm pillow and squinted at the luminous glow of his clock.  It  was 10.36 a.m. but he had been on a stakeout all night and had fallen wearily into bed only an hour before.  In no mood to deal with hawkers, he rolled onto his back and filling his lungs with air, he bellowed in a loud voice, “GO AWAY!”

The knocking stopped but seconds later, Tom’s voice sounded from behind the front door.  “Doug, it’s me.  Open up, I need to talk.”

“I’M SLEEPING!” Doug yelled back and rolling onto his side, he buried his face in his pillow.  “At least I’m trying to,” he finished in a mutter.

When Tom did not answer, Doug smiled contentedly and closing his eyes, he snuggled back down beneath the covers.  But his respite was short lived and seconds later, Tom called out again.  “Doug please!”

This time, there was no mistaking the distress in Tom’s voice and unable to ignore his friend’s pleas any longer, Penhall fell from his bed and stumbled down the stairs.  “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he muttered through a loud yawn, “keep your hair on.”

When he yanked open the door and saw Tom’s pale, distraught face he quickly forgot his weariness.  “Jesus Hanson, what the hell’s wrong?” he asked worriedly.

Tom walked inside and throwing himself down on the couch, he stretched his legs out in front of him and raked his fingers through his hair.  “Booker’s signed a Voluntary Commitment Order.”

Penhall balled his hands into fists as he struggled to control the urge to punch Tom in the face.  He had been rudely awoken from an erotic dream featuring Yasmine Bleeth, only to be told that Booker was a nutjob, and that was not exactly news to him.  But when he saw the pain in his friend’s eyes, he relaxed his shoulders and rubbing a hand over his weary face, he let out a heavy sigh.  “So?” 

Tom leaned forward in his seat, his eyes blazing with anger.  “Don’t you see?  It’s that Doctor Giebelhouse I told you about, he’s behind it, he has to be!”

Flopping down onto an armchair, Doug tried to reason with his friend.  “Behind what Tommy?  You’re seeing conspiracy where there’s only mental illness.  Booker’s sick, _really_ sick and he’s in the best place to help him deal with his disorder.”

Tom’s brow furrowed into a deep frown.  “ _Disorder?”_ he echoed in an icy tone.  “Is _that_ what you and the others are calling it?”

Penhall let out a frustrated groan.  “What do you want me to call it Hanson?  Huh?  What’s the _politically correct_ term for a man who willing allows another man to fuck, cut and beat him?  You tell me ‘cause you seem to be the fucking expert!”

A deep resentment flashed in Tom’s dark eyes and standing up, he glared down at Doug.  “What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Penhall rolled his eyes.  “Oh for fuck’s sake, don’t start with the whole homophobic bullshit again.  That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Suddenly, all the anger and fight left Tom’s body and sitting back down on the couch, he buried his face in his hands.  “Why won’t anyone believe me?” he groaned.

Not one to stay angry with his best friend, Doug sighed heavily and heaving himself out of the armchair, he walked over to the couch and sat down.  “I _want_ to believe you,” he stated in a soft voice, “but I think where Booker’s concerned, your judgment is a little clouded.”

When Tom lifted his head, Penhall was shocked to see tears glistening in his eyes.  “They're hurting him Doug, I just know it; hurting him and controlling him.  He was desperate to get out of there and now… now _something’s_ happened to make him change his mind.”

Unwilling to upset Tom any further, Doug chose his words carefully.  “Okay, let’s say it has, how do we prove it?”

Tom’s mouth twitched nervously at the corner.  “You could ask Fuller to send someone in undercover.”

**

Tom stared expectantly at Adam Fuller.  “So, will you send someone in?”

Fuller glanced furtively at Penhall before returning his attention back to Tom.  “It’s not a lot to go on Hanson,” he replied cautiously, well aware of Tom’s penchant for stubbornness, “also, who do I send in?  Booker knows everyone who works here.”

Sensing a glimmer of hope, Tom’s eyes lit up excitedly.  “What about the guy who replaced me?  What’s his name?"

“McCann,” Penhall stated helpfully. 

“Yeah, McCann!” Tom echoed enthusiastically.  “Booker’s never met him and—”

“Whoa, hold on Hanson,” Fuller cautioned.  “I haven’t agreed to launch an investigation yet, you still need to convince me that Booker’s in trouble.”

Tom’s lower lip pushed into a sullen pout.  “Why can’t you just trust me on this one Cap’n?”

Sighing heavily, Fuller turned his attention to Doug.  “What do _you_ think Penhall?”

Doug rubbed a hand slowly over his chin.  “I dunno Coach,” he replied honestly.  “Booker’s pretty sick so—”

Jumping to his feet, Tom’s eyes flashed with anger.  “Why do you keep saying that?  I _know_ he’s sick, I’m not an idiot!  If I hadn’t told you I was attracted to him then you’d be taking all of this seriously!”

Fuller’s expression registered his shock.  “You and Booker are a _couple?”_ he asked incredulously.

Sitting back down on the chair, Tom buried his face in his hands.  “No,” he mumbled wearily.  “Booker’s straight… or _was_ straight… hell, I don’t know what he is anymore.”

Tilting back his chair, Fuller tented his fingers under his chin and gave Tom a look of empathy.  “But _you’re_ attracted to him, is that what you’re telling me?” he asked in a soft voice.

Lifting his head, Tom’s dark eyes flashed defiantly.  “So what if I am?”

Fuller tapped his fingers thoughtfully together for several moments before leaning forward and placing his palms flat on his desk.  He studied Tom’s insolent expression before turning his gaze to Penhall.  “Get McCann.”

**

Booker lay curled in a ball, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees.  A dull pain throbbed throughout his lower body and blood oozed from his damaged anus, staining his boxers.  Staring sightlessly into space, his fingers absently picked at the latest knife wound on his abdomen.  Giebelhouse had once again increased his medication and he felt disconnected from the world around him.  He slept, ate, drank and wandered aimlessly along the maze of corridors, but he did not feel… _could not_ feel, except at night when his body trembled beneath the sheets, as he waited to hear the soft _click_ that signaled Brady’s arrival.  

The sound of heavy footsteps broke through his catatonia and he turned his dull eyes towards the open doorway.  No one visited him except Giebelhouse, Brady and a male nurse who treated his wounds.  He was unaware that the nurse was freelancing for Giebelhouse but it also never occurred to him that the man should be horrified by his injuries.  For him, it was just his life and he expected others to view it in the same way.

Giebelhouse strode into the room and pulling up a chair, he sat down and opened up his notebook.  “How are we feeling today Dennis?” he inquired.

“Okay,” Dennis muttered, his voice devoid of any emotion.

“Uh huh,” Giebelhouse replied distractedly.  He spent several minutes reading through his notes before addressing Booker again.  “And last night, how did that make you feel?”

Booker continued to stare blankly in front of him.  “Good,” he replied flatly.

Giebelhouse let out a frustrated sigh and closing his notebook, he gave Booker a hard stare.  “Be more specific Dennis.  I want to know how it felt when Brady… _ahem_ … put his fist inside you.  Were you scared or excited?”

At the memory, Dennis’ eyes flashed excitedly before quickly losing their spark and returning to a lifeless stare.  “Excited,” he mumbled.  

“Good, good,” Giebelhouse muttered and opening his notebook, he scribbled down his findings.  “What about the pain?  Would you prefer him to be gentler?”

“No,” Dennis replied in a monotone voice, “I like pain.”

“Because?” Giebelhouse prompted.

Focusing his bleary eyes on the doctor’s face, Booker gave him a penetrating look.  “Because pain is the only thing that makes me feel alive.”  



	21. Delivered from Evil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Previously: Booker lay curled in a ball, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees. A dull pain throbbed throughout his lower body and blood oozed from his damaged anus, staining his boxers. Staring sightlessly into space, his fingers picked absently at the latest knife wound on his abdomen. Giebelhouse had once again increased his medication and he felt disconnected from the world around him. He slept, ate, drank and wandered aimlessly along the maze of corridors, but he did not feel… could not feel, except at night when his body trembled beneath the sheets, as he waited to hear the soft click that signaled Brady’s arrival._
> 
> The sound of heavy footsteps broke through his catatonia and he turned his dull eyes towards the open doorway. No one visited him except Giebelhouse, Brady and a male nurse who treated his wounds. He was unaware that the nurse was freelancing for Giebelhouse but it also never occurred to him that the man should be horrified by his injuries. For him, it was just his life and he expected others to view it in the same way.
> 
> Giebelhouse strode into the room and pulling up a chair, he sat down and opened up his notebook. “How are we feeling today Dennis?” he inquired.
> 
> “Okay,” Dennis muttered, his voice devoid of any emotion.
> 
> “Uh huh,” Giebelhouse replied distractedly. He spent several minutes reading through his notes before addressing Booker again. “And last night, how did that make you feel?”
> 
> Booker continued to stare blankly in front of him. “Good,” he replied flatly.
> 
> Giebelhouse let out a frustrated sigh and closing his notebook, he gave Booker a hard stare. “Be more specific Dennis. I want to know how it felt when Brady… ahem… put his fist inside you. Were you scared or excited?”
> 
> At the memory, Dennis’ eyes flashed excitedly before quickly losing their spark and returning to a lifeless stare. “Excited,” he mumbled. 
> 
> “Good, good,” Giebelhouse muttered and opening his notebook, he scribbled down his findings. “What about the pain? Would you prefer him to be gentler?”
> 
> “No,” Dennis replied in a monotone voice, “I like pain.”
> 
> “Because?” Giebelhouse prompted.
> 
> Focusing his bleary eyes on the doctor’s face, Booker gave him a penetrating look. “Because pain is the only thing that makes me feel alive.”  
> 

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35590682920/in/album-72157683140201352/)

**Delivered from Evil**

_Seven days later_

Alexander Giebelhouse watched silently as Brady roughly inserted a finger into Booker’s anus.  He had quickly surmised that the more brutally Dennis was abused, the quicker he achieved an orgasm.  During the last few days, he had begun to measure the time between penetration and climax and when Brady used his fist, Dennis ejaculated on average a full four minutes earlier than when he was fucked in the conventional way.  For Giebelhouse, it was a fascinating insight into the paraphilias of masochism and he felt a thrill of excitement at every new discovery he made.  Booker was his ticket out of Rosewood and he was confident that once his paper was published, he would be offered a lucrative position in a more prestigious institution.

Stepping out of the shadows, he studied the rapturous expression on Dennis’ face as Brady inserted the last of his digits.  Personally, he could not imagine how painful it would be to have someone’s hand inside his anus but for Dennis, it was the epitome of pleasure.  His cock was already fully erect and precum glistened on the tip; he was in a state of nirvana, waiting for the real pain to begin.

Brady turned his head and addressed Giebelhouse.  “Can I fist him now doc?” he asked in a voice full of arousal.

Giebelhouse took note of Brady’s own erect penis and he smiled to himself.  The sexual sadist was also a fascinating individual and through his experimentation, he had managed to study the twisted minds of both the abused and the abuser.  Of course, Brady had no idea that his motivations and responses were also being scrutinized and documented.  Giebelhouse was not stupid, he knew Brady would go berserk if he found out he too was being used as a guinea pig, and Brady was not someone you wanted to piss off.  He was well known for his violent tendencies and therefore, Giebelhouse let him believe that he had a certain amount of control.  But in reality, he was as much a pawn in the doctor’s research as Booker, because without him, there would be no experiment.

“Doc?” Brady queried again.

Stepping back into the shadows, Giebelhouse gave the command.  “Proceed.”

**

Anthony _“Mac”_ McCann moved silently down the deserted corridor.  He had been working undercover as an orderly at Rosewood for three days and during that time, he had kept a careful eye on both Booker and Alexander Giebelhouse.  However, despite coming to the conclusion that Booker was severely depressed and detached from his environment, he had not witnessed any obvious signs of abuse.  Giebelhouse had been trickier to observe, but during the brief moments he was able to watch him interacting with the patients, he had seen no evidence of impropriety, although, on a personal level, the man did make his skin crawl; there was something not right about him.  But Mac knew he needed more than a gut feeling, he had to catch the doctor in the act of doing something immoral to Booker and therefore, having had no luck on the day shift, he had requested an assignment to the night shift.  He figured if Giebelhouse really was abusing Booker, the most opportune time to do so would be without the fear of listening ears or prying eyes.

As he approached Booker’s room, he slowed his pace and crept cautiously up to the closed door.  Taking a deep breath, he placed his ear against the painted surface and listened.  Despite his training, nothing could have prepared him for what he heard, a taunting male voice whose words made him break out in a cold sweat.  _“Do ya like my fist up your ass ya little freak?  Do ya?  Huh?  Do ya?”_

Running a trembling hand over his mouth, he struggled to control his emotions.  Hanson had been right all along, someone was abusing Booker in the most abhorrent way possible and it appeared that no one at Rosewood had a clue it was happening.

With his heart pounding rapidly in his chest, he reached down, unstrapped his gun from his lower leg, and pulled out his badge.  Never before had he felt such a rush of adrenalin, never before had he relished an arrest more than he did now.  He could not wait to bust the sick bastard who got off on abusing the mentally unstable and he hoped whoever it was, would rot in prison for a very long time.

Taking a deep breath, he placed his hand on the handle and carefully opened the door a fraction of an inch.  The room was dark but instantly the man’s voice became louder, his vile words sending a shiver down Mac's spine.  _“You like blood, don’t ya bitch.”_

Mac mentally counted to three and visualizing Booker’s room in his mind, he kicked open the door and trained his gun on the bed.  “Police!  Nobody move!”

**

Tom sat by the telephone, nervously chewing at his thumbnail as he willed it to ring.  He had been bitterly disappointed Tony McCann had yet to discover any evidence that Giebelhouse was abusing Booker but he was certain all that would change now that the young undercover cop was working the night shift.  Giebelhouse was not a stupid man and the cover of darkness would afford him the concealment he needed to carry out whatever mistreatment he was afflicting on Booker.

Getting to his feet, he walked into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee.  He desperately craved  alcohol but he knew he needed to keep a clear head, just in case he got the call and he had to rush to Dennis’ side. It terrified him that if Dennis was sent to another facility, the same thing could happen again and he wondered if his friend would ever be safe from those who took pleasure from abusing the mentally ill.  However, this time he was determined to be by Dennis’ side every step of the way, monitoring his recovery for himself instead of putting his trust in the doctors.  That had been his mistake when Dennis entered Rosewood, he had been told to stay away at the beginning and he had complied.  But if he had met Doctor Giebelhouse sooner, he was sure he would have realized that his methods were not in the best interest of the patient and it was a guilt he would have to live with for the rest of his life.  He had let Dennis down and because of his negligence, his friend had paid the ultimate price.

The sudden piercing ring of the phone made him jump and running across the room, he snatched up the receiver.  “Hanson!” he barked.

Penhall’s trembling voice sounded down the line.  “Jesus Christ Tommy, you were right.  McCann caught an orderly sexually abusing Booker whilst Giebelhouse took notes!  Fuck!  I can’t believe it and I’m so sorry I—”

Tom barely heard Doug’s apology.  “IS HE OKAY?” he yelled down the phone in a shrill voice.  “IS DENNIS OKAY?”

“He’s uh, he’s at Saint Mary’s,” Penhall replied.  “But Tommy, you can’t see him… hello?  _Hello?_   Hanson?  Are you still there?”  But when he heard only dial tone, he knew Tom had hung up.

**

Placing his hands on the hospital reception counter, Tom leaned forward and attempted to keep his voice calm.  “No, _you_ don’t understand,” he told the bewildered woman behind the desk.  “I want to speak to the ER doctor and I’m not leaving until I do.”

Not wanting a scene, the woman lifted the phone and after relaying her message, she hung up.  “Take a seat,” she instructed Tom in a cool voice.  “The doctor will see you when he’s free.”

Tom turned away and sat down on one of the all too familiar red chairs that adorned the waiting room.  It seemed surreal that he was back at Saint Mary’s hospital for the fourth time in ten months and he prepared himself for a long wait.  He knew the drill all too well and settling back against the uncomfortable plastic, he folded his arms across his chest and closing his eyes, he let out a weary sigh.  Moments later, he jumped violently when a hand touched his shoulder.  “Mister Hanson?”

Opening his eyes, he looked into the handsome face of a middle-aged doctor.  “Yes,” he replied quickly and smiling nervously, he held out his hand, “call me Tom.”

The doctor shook Tom’s outstretched hand and introduced himself.  “Doctor Gabriel Miller, I’ve been taking care of Dennis until the resident psychiatrist can be contacted.”

Tom ran a trembling hand over his mouth.  “Is he… is he okay?”

The doctor glanced around the crowded waiting room.  “Let’s take a walk,” he suggested quietly.

Getting to his feet, Tom followed the doctor down a long corridor.  “How much do you know?” the doctor asked.

Taking a deep breath, Tom gave Miller the abridged version of the last ten months of his and Dennis’ lives.  He did not leave anything out, but he kept it short and to the point.  “I know he was being sexually abused at Rosewood,” he concluded with a heavy sigh.  “How badly is he hurt?”

Miller stopped walking and addressed Tom.  “I can’t comment on his mental condition but physically, he’s suffered some terrible injuries.  There are several deep burns and knife wounds, plus internal damage from the sexual assaults.  He’ll be in hospital for a while and then he’ll be transferred to the psych ward so he can receive treatment for his mental illness.”

The news was no real surprise to Tom and he nodded his head in resignation.  “When can I see him?”

The doctor hesitated for a moment before making his decision.  “You can visit for a few minutes now, but he’s been sedated so he may not know you’re there.  After that, well, you’ll have to get permission from the resident psychiatrist.  He needs time to heal, he's been through a lot.”

“Yeah,” Tom sighed wearily, “he really has.”

The two men continued their journey through the maze of hospital corridors before finally stopping outside a curtained cubicle.  “Wait here,” Miller instructed and he disappeared between the curtain’s folds.

Tom’s thumb found its way to his mouth and he anxiously chewed at the jagged edges of his nail.  He was well prepared for what he was about to be confronted with but that did not make it any easier.  His feelings for Booker had increased exponentially over the last ten months and he knew seeing him in pain would cause insurmountable heartache.  But he also knew he needed to be strong and reassure Booker that he was there to help him adjust when he was ready to once again, face the world.

Soft voices sounded from behind the curtain and moments later, Miller reappeared.  “He’s awake but groggy.  Try not to upset him, he’s in a very fragile mental state, understood?”

Nodding his head in silent agreement, Tom pulled back the curtain and walked into the small cubicle.  Booker lay on a narrow hospital gurney, his eyes were closed and his bare chest was covered in cardiac leads that connected to a cardiac monitor beside the bed.  An intravenous line pumped saline into a vein in his arm and several white dressings concealed various sized wounds on his abdomen.  His genitalia and legs remained covered and Tom shuddered as he imagined the damage that lay hidden beneath the thin cotton sheet.

Gathering his wits, he stepped forward and laid a hand on Dennis’ arm.  “Hey Dennis,” he murmured softly.

Booker opened his eyes and tears immediately filled his dark orbs.  “You came back,” he whispered in a raspy voice.  “Why do you always come back?”

Tom forgot his resolve to remain strong and grasping hold of Booker’s hand, he held it tightly within both of his, as tears filled his eyes.  “Because I care about you,” he confessed in a soft voice, “and I want you to get well.”

Booker’s eyes fluttered closed.  “Why?” he muttered groggily.  “I’m nothing… but a fucked up… filthy… whore.”

“No!” Tom exclaimed softly.  “You’ve just forgotten who the _real_ you is.  But _I_ remember, and I’m going to help you find him, okay?”

When Booker did not reply, Tom realized that he had fallen asleep.  He hesitated for a moment before leaning forward and pressing his lips against Booker’s forehead.  “I _love_ you,” he murmured softly, "and one day, you'll understand why I fought so hard to save you."  



	22. Mixed-up Confusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Previously: The doctor hesitated for a moment before making his decision. “You can visit for a few minutes now, but he’s been sedated so he may not know you’re there. After that, well, you’ll have to get permission from the resident psychiatrist. He needs time to heal, he's been through a lot.”_
> 
> _“Yeah,” Tom sighed wearily, “he really has.”_
> 
> _The two men continued their journey through the maze of hospital corridors before finally stopping outside a curtained cubicle. “Wait here,” Miller instructed and he disappeared between the curtain’s folds._
> 
> _Tom’s thumb found its way back to his mouth and he anxiously chewed at the jagged edges of his nail. He was well prepared for what he was about to be confronted with but that did not make it any easier. His feelings for Booker had increased exponentially over the last ten months and he knew seeing him in pain would cause insurmountable heartache. But he also knew he needed to be strong and reassure Booker that he was there to help him adjust when he was ready to once again, face the world._
> 
> _Soft voices sounded from behind the curtain and moments later, Miller reappeared. “He’s awake but groggy. Try not to upset him, he’s in a very fragile mental state, understood?”_
> 
> _Nodding his head in silent agreement, Tom pulled back the curtain and walked into the small cubicle. Booker lay on a narrow hospital gurney, his eyes were closed and his bare chest was covered in cardiac leads that connected to a cardiac monitor beside the bed. An intravenous line pumped saline into a vein in his arm and several white dressings concealed various sized wounds on his abdomen. His genitalia and legs remained covered and Tom shuddered as he imagined the damage that lay hidden beneath the thin cotton sheet._
> 
> _Gathering his wits, he stepped forward and laid a hand on Dennis’ arm. “Hey Dennis,” he murmured softly._
> 
> _Booker opened his eyes and tears immediately filled his dark orbs. “You came back,” he whispered in a raspy voice. “Why do you always come back?”_
> 
> _Tom forgot his resolve to remain strong and grasping hold of Booker’s hand, he held it tightly within both of his, as tears filled his eyes. “Because I care about you,” he confessed in a soft voice, “and I want you to get well.”_
> 
> _Booker’s eyes fluttered closed. “Why?” he muttered groggily. “I’m nothing… but a fucked up… filthy… whore.”_
> 
> _“No!” Tom exclaimed softly. “You’ve just forgotten who the real you is. But I remember, and I’m going to help you find him, okay?”_
> 
> _When Booker did not reply, Tom realized that he had fallen asleep. He hesitated for a moment before leaning forward and pressing his lips against Booker’s forehead. “I love you,” he murmured softly, "and one day, you'll understand why I fought so hard to save you."_

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35590682860/in/album-72157683140201352/)

**Mixed-up Confusion**

_Nine weeks later_

Soft sunlight filtered in through the large bay window, making the large airy room seem even cheerier.  However, despite the relaxing atmosphere, Booker sat hunched in a chair, nervously picking at the skin around his thumbnail.  He had spent almost every day during the last nine weeks sitting in the tastefully decorated office talking to Doctor James Mayberry about his _feelings_ , but that did not make the sessions any easier.  Although he liked Doctor Mayberry and respected him as a psychiatrist, he was tired of talking about the same things over and over again, Tom’s rape, his rapes, and of course, his unnatural attachment to Conan.

But it was a catch 22 situation because as much as he wished he could just forget the past and move forward, he was terrified of leaving the sanctuary of the hospital’s psychiatric facility.  As each day passed it was obvious to him that the time was drawing close, not only because he knew he could not stay there forever but also because Tom had now become a regular part of his counseling sessions and that had meant, also discussing his plans for the future.  

At first, he had found having Tom in the room awkward and uncomfortable, especially when discussing the rape he had perpetrated against him.  There were no words to express how sorry he was, and so he clammed up and stared morosely at the floor whilst Tom spoke about how _he_ felt.  It had surprised him that Tom seemed to have come to terms with what had happened and had even forgiven him.  However, the problem was that he could not forgive himself.  He had sexually assaulted a man who had shown him nothing but kindness and consideration after his own rapes and it ate him up inside to think that he could have carried out such a vile act.  He was a monster and if he was capable of doing it once, who knew if he was capable of doing it again.  But he kept his thoughts to himself, unwilling to share the deep seated fear that festered inside him.  It was his own private nightmare and he suffered alone with the silent mantra that echoed constantly in his mind: _once a rapist, always a rapist._

“Dennis?” Doctor Mayberry prompted gently.  “Did you hear what I said?”

Realizing that the doctor had asked him a question, Booker lifted his head.  “Huh?”

James Mayberry smiled patiently and repeated his question.  “Do you feel ready to go home?”

Booker shifted uncomfortably in his seat and returned his gaze to the floor.  “I dunno… I guess so,” he mumbled.

Leaning back in his chair, Mayberry studied Booker’s bowed head.  He was pleased with his patient’s progress and he felt it was in his best interest to leave the security of the facility and reenter the world.  Having spent countless hours speaking to both Dennis and Tom, he had no reservations about their friendship.  It was obvious that Tom had Dennis’ best interests at heart; he had been willing to participate in the counseling sessions and to Mayberry, that was a sign of true dedication.  Most shied away from partaking in family and friends counseling because they feared their own idiosyncrasies being exposed and analyzed.  But Tom had been direct and open about his feelings towards Booker prior to the rape, how he had coped with the aftermath of the assault and his ability to forgive because he knew his friend had suffered a mental breakdown.  When asked during a private session if he feared Dennis raping him again, Tom had shaken his head violently back and forth.  “No,” he had stated emphatically, “Dennis never meant to hurt me.”

Then, several weeks later when the topic of Booker’s release came up, Tom had suggested he move in with him.  Mayberry however, had been less than enthusiastic about the idea because he believed Tom _still_ felt a strong attraction towards Dennis.  But when questioned privately, Tom had categorically denied it, stating that he cared about Booker in the same way he cared about his best friend.  Mayberry was not completely convinced, however, he did trust Tom’s sense of decency and he doubted the young man would act on his impulses if he thought it would cause Dennis harm.  Therefore, after much deliberation, he had agreed to the proposed living arrangement.

Tenting his fingers under his chin, Mayberry exhaled heavily.  “Talk to me Dennis,” he coaxed.  “If you’re not ready to leave then you need to tell me why.”

Several seconds passed before Dennis lifted his head and gave the doctor a sheepish look.  “I’m scared,” he finally admitted in a soft voice.

“Of what?” Mayberry asked gently.

Dennis ran a trembling hand over his mouth; the time had come to own up to his fears.  “Hurting Tom.”

Mayberry’s eyes widened in surprise.  When writing up his evaluation report, he had only factored into the equation Tom’s thoughts about a repeat rape, not Dennis’ and he suddenly realized he had been focusing on the wrong man.  _Tom_ had no fear that Dennis would rape him again but _Dennis_ feared he would rape Tom.  It was the opposite rational of what he had expected and for a moment, he was at a complete loss for words.  Never before had he come across a rapist who had actually vocalized his fear of raping again.

Sitting forward in his chair, he laid his palms on the desk and cleared his throat.  “Do you _imagine_ hurting Tom?” he asked directly.

Booker’s head shook vigorously back and forth.  “No!” he exclaimed insistently and getting to his feet, he began to pace the floral carpeted room.  “Of course not!  But what if I have another breakdown?  What happens if I snap like I did last time and I don’t know what I’m doing?  What if—”

Mayberry held up his hand.  “Life is full of _what ifs_ Dennis,” he stated calmly, “and we can’t prepare ourselves for all eventualities.  Trust me, if I had any fear for Tom’s safety, I wouldn’t agree to you living with him, or anywhere else for that matter.  But I don’t, and Tom doesn’t either.  He’s forgiven you and you need to learn to forgive yourself.”

Flopping back down on the chair, Dennis buried his face in his hands.  “How can I?” he asked in a tortured voice.  “I _raped_ him.”

“Yes you did,” Mayberry replied matter-of-factly, “and you’ve lived with the pain and guilt every day since the assault.  Now it’s time to start healing; now it’s time to start a new life.”

Booker closed his eyes and envisioned Tom’s face in his mind.  A shiver of desire ran down his spine and he bit down on his lower lip in an effort to quell the feeling.  His fear of raping Tom was not the only secret he had kept from Doctor Mayberry, he had also not divulged the sexual attraction he had begun to feel for Tom since they had begun therapy sessions together.  However, he knew that was one secret he had to keep to himself.  Tom may have forgiven him but since the rape, he felt certain that he no longer felt a sexual attraction towards him.  How could he?  He had assaulted him in the most depraved way possible and only in some twisted _Bizarro World_ could a rape victim fall in love with his rapist… 

Except, _he_ had… he had fallen in love with _his_ rapist.  

At the sudden realization, he immediately felt sick to his stomach.  What if Tom viewed _him_ in the same way _he_ viewed Conan.  Was he capable of manipulating Tom in the same way Conan had manipulated him?  Could he control Tom and use him for his own sexual gratification?  Was he sick enough and depraved enough to treat Tom as his slave and if so, would he feel the desire to do it?  The terrifying thoughts went round and round in his mind, confusing his senses until his mind was screaming hysterically, and leaning forward in his chair, he placed his arms over his head and let out a loud tumultuous groan.  “I can’t,” he wailed.  “I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I _CAN’T!”_

Mayberry quickly stood up and hurried over to Booker’s chair.  Squatting down, he laid a comforting hand on his patient’s shoulder.  “Can’t what Dennis?” he asked in a soothing voice.  “Can’t start a new life?”

Lifting his tear stained face, Booker clutched desperately at the doctor’s arm, his dark eyes wild with panic.  “Please, you have to help me!  What if I hurt him?  Oh God!  I can’t!  Not again!  Please help me!  PLEASE!  Help me!  _HELP ME!”_

Gazing into the distraught face in front of him, Doctor Mayberry came to the sad conclusion that despite his earlier beliefs, Dennis was not yet well enough to be released.

**

_Eighteen days later_

Slamming his Mustang’s door closed, Tom walked along the gravel driveway and entered the psychiatric wing of St. Mary’s hospital.  He had scheduled a social visit with Dennis and he hoped that in a more relaxed environment, he would be able to find out why his friend feared hurting him again.  Over the last few weeks, he had attended almost daily therapy sessions but during the hourly appointments, Dennis had remained stubbornly silent, refusing to divulge the reasons for his fears.  Instead, he continuously stated that he was still mentally unwell and not ready to leave the facility.

After clearing security, Tom walked down the long corridor and into the visitors’ room.  He immediately spotted Dennis sitting on the broad window ledge, staring out at the grounds below and he approached with some trepidation.  Over the last week, he had felt as though Dennis was distancing himself from him, withdrawing back into the protective shell that he had initially used to shield himself from his surroundings when he had first entered the psychiatric wing.  Doctor Mayberry had classed it as a temporary setback and it was then that he had suggested a social visit, in the hopes that Dennis would open up to him about his feelings. 

Stopping next to the window, he took a seat on the ledge next to Dennis.  “Hey,” he greeted softly.

Dennis’ eyes remained fixed on the lawn below.  “Hey,” he replied gloomily.

Tom took a deep, calming breath and standing up; he placed a light hand on Dennis’ shoulder.  “Let’s take a walk.”

“Where?” Dennis asked in a flat voice.  “I’m not allowed to go anywhere.”

Tom smiled encouragingly.  “Doctor Mayberry’s given us permission to go outside.  I thought maybe you’d like to get some fresh air.”

“Oh,” Dennis replied impassively.  “Okay, if that’s what you want.”

Sighing heavily Tom lowered his hand.  “This isn’t about _me_ Dennis, I want to do what _you_ want.  Can’t you at least try to communicate with me, tell me what you’re feeling?  I want to help you but I can’t do that unless you let me in.”

Booker turned his head and gazed at Tom with terrified eyes.  “If I let you in, I might hurt you,” he whispered.

Sensing an opportunity, Tom sat back down and laid a hand on Dennis’ knee.  “What makes you think you’re going to hurt me?”

Booker’s breathing became labored and closing his eyes, he clenched his fists into tight balls.  “Because I’m just like him,” he replied through gritted teeth.

Tom’s brow knitted together in confusion.  “Like _who?”_ he asked in a puzzled tone.

A deep sigh of frustration escaped Dennis’ lips.  “ _Him!  Conan!_   Don’t you get it?  He made me who I am today and that means I’m going to do the same things to you that he did to me!”

Tom’s eyes grew wide with shock.  “ _What?”_ he exclaimed in surprise.  “You’re _nothing_ like that sick, depraved psycho!  Jesus _Christ_ Dennis, why would you say that?”

Tears spilled from Dennis’ eyes and trickled down his pale cheeks.  “Because I _raped_ you,” he sobbed, “and I can’t stop thinking about it, and I’m scared to death I’ll do it again!”

At Booker’s revelation, Tom wiped a trembling hand over his mouth and stared back at Booker with wide-eyed disbelief.  “Do you _fantasize_ about raping me?” he asked in a shaky voice.  "Is _that_ what you're telling me?"

“No!” Booker cried out.  “Of course not!  But I fantasize about…” His voice trailed off and he stared down at the floor.  “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered morosely, “none of it matters because now that you know what I’m thinking, you hate me.”

“I don’t hate y—” Tom began before stopping and giving Booker a quizzical look, “wait, fantasize about _what?”_

Booker’s cheeks flushed red.  "Nothing,” he muttered, “it’s not important.”

Tom chewed anxiously on his lower lip for several moments before speaking in a soft voice.  “I’m not scared that you’ll rape me again and you shouldn’t be either.  You’re _not_ Maurice Keppler… you’ll never _be_ Maurice Keppler, and do you know why?  Because _he_ was a psychopath and you’re not.  You’re a victim of another man’s deranged mind, that’s all.  I _want_ you to live with me Dennis but if it’ll make you feel more comfortable living somewhere else, then I understand.  Just promise me you won’t continue to carry the guilt inside for something that wasn’t your fault.”

Peering up through his long lashes, Dennis stared at Tom in surprise.  “Do you really mean that?” he asked in a whisper.

“Yeah, I really do,” Tom murmured.  “So, how 'bout we talk to Doctor Mayberry about your fears and he can tell us what we need to do to deal with it.”

Dennis raised his eyebrows in surprise.  “Us?” he asked softly.

Tom’s lips twitched into a smile.  "Yeah, _us_.”  



	23. Hidden Feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Previously: Sensing an opportunity, Tom sat back down and laid a hand on Dennis’ knee. “What makes you think you’re going to hurt me?”_
> 
> _Booker’s breathing became labored and closing his eyes, he clenched his fists into tight balls. “Because I’m just like him,” he replied through gritted teeth._
> 
> _Tom’s brow knitted together in confusion. “Like who?” he asked in a puzzled tone._
> 
> _A deep sigh of frustration escaped Dennis’ lips. “Him! Conan! Don’t you get it? He made me who I am today and that means I’m going to do the same things to you that he did to me!”_
> 
> _Tom’s eyes grew wide with shock. “What?” he exclaimed in surprise. “You’re nothing like that sick, depraved psycho! Jesus Christ Dennis, why would you say that?”_
> 
> _Tears spilled from Dennis’ eyes and trickled down his pale cheeks. “Because I raped you,” he sobbed, “and I can’t stop thinking about it, and I’m scared to death I’ll do it again!”_
> 
> _At Booker’s revelation, Tom wiped a trembling hand over his mouth and stared back at Booker with wide-eyed disbelief. “Do you fantasize about raping me?” he asked in a shaky voice. "Is that what you're telling me?"_
> 
> _“No!” Booker cried out. “Of course not! But I fantasize about…” His voice trailed off and he stared down at the floor. “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered morosely, “none of it matters because now that you know what I’m thinking, you hate me.”_
> 
> _“I don’t hate y—” Tom began before stopping and giving Booker a quizzical look, “wait, fantasize about what?”_
> 
> _Booker’s cheeks flushed red. Nothing,” he muttered, “it’s not important.”_
> 
> _Tom chewed anxiously on his lower lip for several moments before speaking in a soft voice. “I’m not scared that you’ll rape me again and you shouldn’t be either. You’re not Maurice Keppler… you’ll never be Maurice Keppler, and do you know why? Because he was a psychopath and you’re not. You’re a victim of another man’s deranged mind, that’s all. I want you to live with me Dennis but if it’ll make you feel more comfortable living somewhere else, then I understand. Just promise me you won’t continue to carry the guilt inside for something that wasn’t your fault.”_
> 
> _Peering up through his long lashes, Dennis stared at Tom in surprise. “Do you really mean that?” he asked in a whisper._
> 
> _“Yeah, I really do,” Tom murmured. “So, how 'bout we talk to Doctor Mayberry about your fears and he can tell us what we need to do to deal with it.”_
> 
> _Dennis raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Us?” he asked softly._
> 
> _Tom’s lips twitched into a smile. "Yeah, us.”_   
> 

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35590682790/in/album-72157683140201352/)

**Hidden Feelings**

_Three weeks later_

Dennis stared out of the passenger window as Tom maneuvered his Mustang through the city’s heavy afternoon traffic.  He had spent a total of six month confined behind the gated walls of two mental health facilities and prior to that, four months in a secluded cabin, and he found the traffic noise and smell of the city overpowering to his senses.  As the journey continued, he could not quell the nerves that unsettled his stomach and closing his eyes, he balled his hands into tight fists and concentrated on not throwing up his lunch.  He was starting to have serious reservations about leaving the hospital, and he wished he was tucked safely back behind the brick walls of St. Mary’s.  Although Tom was sitting only a foot away from him, he felt completely isolated and he wondered if he would ever again know the feeling of social acceptance or if he was forever destined to be a loner.

When a light hand rested on his thigh, he jumped violently and running a hand through his tousled hair, he turned and gave a sheepish smile.  “Sorry.”

Tom’s dark eyes softened with compassion.  “Are you okay?” he asked quietly.  “You seem on edge.  Aren’t you happy to be going home?”

At the mention of _home_ , Dennis’ feelings of isolation increased.  He _had_ no home, he was nothing more than a lodger, dependent on others to offer him shelter.  His own family had abandoned him, unable or unwilling to accept his mental illness and now he had only one friend in the world… Tom.  However, knowing that the only person who had stood by his side was the man he had hurt so grievously did not comfort him.  He still found it difficult to understand and accept Tom’s forgiveness and he often wished his friend would lash out at him and give him the condemnation he deserved.  He now realized that he had sought atonement from the wrong man, it should have been Tom that had beaten him to within an inch of his life, not Conan.  But he also knew Tom would never have done it, one punch maybe, but never a beating; he was not that kind of man.

Realizing that Tom was still staring at him, he managed a half-hearted smile.  “I’m fine, just tired.”  He felt the hand on his thigh give a gentle reassuring squeeze and his nerves tingled with arousal.  More than anything, he wanted to feel the touch of Tom’s fingertips traveling over his naked body and closing his eyes, he reveled in the contact.  He no longer shied away from Tom’s touch, he rejoiced in it, even though he knew it was only done in friendship and that he would never know the exhilaration of having Tom’s cock buried deep inside him, loving him in a way Conan never had.  That was just a fantasy, his own private delusion that made him hard at night so he could give his body the release it needed.  But it was also more than that.  Over the last few months, he had realized that he was in love with Tom.  Not in the sick, perverse way he had loved Conan, but in the same manner he had loved _before_ he was raped, with his heart and soul.  He had always been a player, never lacking for a woman’s attention, but when he fell in love, he fell hard and that was how he felt about Tom.  When they were apart, his heart physically ached to be near him, to see him, to touch him, to breathe in the scent of his shampoo and at times, the pain became almost unbearable.  However, he was not stupid, it was, in its own way, a twisted love and he knew in his heart that the feeling could never be reciprocated.  Tom may have forgiven him, but he no longer loved him; those feelings had disappeared the moment he had violently taken what was not his to take.

When he noticed the sound of the traffic had become lighter, he opened his eyes and stared out at the familiar surroundings of Tom’s neighborhood.  His agitation levels began to rise and his heart started to beat frantically in his chest as he recalled the last time he had been there; _heavy rain… an offer to dry off… the utterance of three, fateful words… blind fury… rape… screaming… madness…_

His body shuddered violently at the memory and clutching his head in his hands, he let out a loud moan.  Within seconds, the car had stopped and strong, comforting arms pulled him into a consoling embrace.  “It’s okay,” Tom murmured into his hair.  “Everything’s going to be okay.”

Lifting his head, Dennis gazed at Tom with dark, tormented eyes.  “I don’t think I can do this,” he whispered.

Tom sat back in his seat and gave his friend a reassuring smile.  “And I think you’re wrong,” he stated quietly.  “You’re stronger than you think Dennis and I _know_ you can do this.”

Strengthened somewhat by Tom’s words, Dennis calmed his breathing and running a shaky hand over his mouth, he gave his friend a watery smile.  “You’re gonna _make_ me do it aren’t you?” he joked half-heartedly.

A large grin spread over Tom’s face.  “You’ve got that right,” he chuckled and leaning forward, he placed his hand on Dennis’ shoulder.  “Just remember, you’re not alone.”

Booker quickly bowed his head so Tom would not see the love that he knew was shining from his eyes.  “Thanks,” he muttered awkwardly and taking several deep breaths, he stared resolutely out through the windshield.  “Let’s go.”

Tom drove the short distance to his building, parked the car and they walked silently up the stairs and down the long corridor before stopping outside apartment 222.  Tom unlocked the door and pushing it open, he walked inside and tossed his keys on the kitchen counter.  It was only then that he realized he was alone and turning around, he saw his friend standing nervously in the doorway and it suddenly dawned on him that this was the first time Dennis had been in his apartment since the rape.  Moving back across the room, he placed his hand in Dennis’ and gave the fingers a gentle squeeze.  “Remember what Doctor Mayberry said,” he placated, “it’s all in the past.  Now we have to concentrate on the future.”

After several long moments, Dennis nodded his head and allowed Tom to lead him inside.  He jumped when the door slammed behind him and tears of embarrassment and fatigue filled his eyes.  All he wanted to do was lay down and go to sleep but he had no idea where he was supposed to be sleeping.  Almost as though he understood Dennis’ needs, Tom guided him towards the bedroom.  “If you’re okay sharing, I’ve put a mattress on the floor,” he explained apologetically, “otherwise it’s the couch.”

Dennis peered into the small room and immediately the memory of Tom crouched in a corner with his knees drawn up against his chest flashed into his mind and he shuddered at the recollection.  “The couch is fine,” he mumbled.

Sensing that Dennis was reluctant to enter the bedroom, Tom remembered Doctor Mayberry’s advice about gently coaxing him to face his fears and walking in, he casually motioned for him to follow whilst keeping up a light, relaxed banter.  “Your mom sent over your clothes and some of your other stuff.  It’s still in boxes but I’ve made room in the closet and emptied out a bureau so you can put it away when you feel up to it.”

When Tom turned around and smiled encouragingly at him, Booker knew he had to enter the room and taking a deep breath, he stepped cautiously inside.  He clenched his hands into fists and waited for the flashbacks to overwhelm him but when all he saw was Tom standing in front of him, smiling his tilted smile, he relaxed his shoulders and let out a sigh.  “I didn’t think I’d be able to do that,” he confessed.

Tom gave a nod of understanding.  “I know how hard that was for you but you did it,” he praised softly and looking over at the mattress on the floor, he decided to push a little more, “and now that you have, don’t you think sleeping on a mattress will be more comfortable than the couch?”

A small laugh escaped Booker’s lips.  “Jesus Hanson, were you always this pushy?”

Pleased that the tension had been broken, Tom grinned back.  “I think that’s why we argued all the time, we’re both so headstrong.”

Dennis’ expression became melancholy and lowering his eyes, he shoved his hands deep in his pockets.  “I _used_ to be like that,” he murmured sadly, “but not now… Conan broke me.”

An overwhelming sense of sadness engulfed Tom and stepping forward, he pulled Dennis into a tight hug.  “Not broke,” he whispered, “confused.  He was a psychopath Dennis and he knew how to manipulate and control you with fear.  But you don’t have to worry about him anymore, he’s dead and he can never hurt you again.”

Stifling a sob, Dennis buried his face against Tom’s chest and wept quietly.  Everything his friend said was true except one thing; Conan _still_ hurt him every day because he missed him so damn much.

**

The soft rhythmic sound of Dennis’ breathing sounded throughout the bedroom, reminding Tom that he was just feet away from the man he loved.  He ached to touch him, to wrap his arms around him and feel his hard, muscular body pressing against him but in his heart, he knew that would never happen.  Dennis was not gay, the relationship he had with Conan was not based on homosexual love; it was based on cruelty, dominance and a sick mind’s need to atone.  At least, that was how Doctor Mayberry had described Dennis’ masochistic tendencies.  He had not sought out homosexual contact because he enjoyed gay sex, he had done it to punish himself.  However, his damaged mind had reprogrammed itself to think that Conan’s way of showing love was what he craved and therefore, throughout the pain, he had also obtained pleasure.  Although Dennis had told Mayberry that he no longer needed to feel pain to become aroused, during one of their private sessions, the doctor had explained to Tom  that the masochistic tendencies were likely to remain with him for the rest of his life.  It had been a sobering revelation for Tom but it had also made his resolve easier; he would never let Dennis know that he had any feelings for him beyond friendship.  More than anything, he wanted his friend’s damaged mind to heal and sexual tension would only add to his fears and confusion, and therein lay disaster.

Turning his head, he glanced down over the edge of the bed at Dennis’ sleeping form.  Soft moonlight filtered in through a chink in the curtains, illuminating Dennis’ finely chiseled features.  He let out a soft sigh of appreciation and pushing aside any misgivings he felt for what he was about to do, he released his cock from his boxers and started to masturbate.  He knew it was wrong but the sight of Dennis lying next to him, his face so tranquil and angelic evoked a hunger within him that he could not ignore.  As his fingers coaxed his cock to life, he bit down on his lower lip to stifle the excited moan that threatened to spill from his lips.  He tried to reason with himself that he was not doing Dennis any harm, but deep down, he knew he was kidding himself.  He was walking a fine line by allowing himself to give into his desires.  However, no matter how much his mind screamed at him to stop, he continued to pump his fist over his erect shaft.  Staring down at Dennis’ soft pout, he could not help but imagine the full lips wrapped around his cock and screwing his eyes closed, he bit down hard on his lower lip as he ejaculated forcefully over his fingers.

A post orgasmic calm washed over him and opening his eyes, he gazed back down at the object of his affection.  The beautiful face remained tranquil in sleep, unaware of the sexual release that had occurred above him, and Tom came to the egoistical conclusion that what Dennis did not know, could not hurt him.  



	24. I Want You to Want Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Previously: The soft rhythmic sound of Dennis’ breathing sounded throughout the bedroom, reminding Tom that he was just feet away from the man he loved. He ached to touch him, to wrap his arms around him and feel his hard, muscular body pressed against him but in his heart, he knew that would never happen. Dennis was not gay, the relationship he had with Conan was not based on homosexual love; it was based on cruelty, dominance and a sick mind’s need to atone. At least, that was how Doctor Mayberry had described Dennis’ masochistic tendencies. He had not sought out homosexual contact because he enjoyed gay sex, he had done it to punish himself. However, his damaged mind had reprogrammed itself to think that Conan’s way of showing love was what he craved and therefore, throughout the pain, he had also obtained pleasure. Although Dennis had told Mayberry that he no longer needed to feel pain to become aroused, during one of their private sessions, the doctor had explained to Tom that the masochistic tendencies were likely to remain with him for the rest of his life. It had been a sobering revelation for Tom but it had also made his resolve easier; he would never let Dennis know that he had any feelings for him beyond friendship. More than anything, he wanted his friend’s damaged mind to heal and sexual tension would only add to his fears and confusion, and therein lay disaster._
> 
> _Turning his head, he glanced down over the edge of the bed at Dennis’ sleeping form. Soft moonlight filtered in through a chink in the curtains, illuminating Dennis’ finely chiseled features. He let out a soft sigh of appreciation and pushing aside any misgivings he felt for what he was about to do, he released his cock from his boxers and started to masturbate. He knew it was wrong but the sight of Dennis lying next to him, his face so tranquil and angelic evoked a hunger within him that he could not ignore. As his fingers coaxed his cock to life, he bit down on his lower lip to stifle the excited moan that threatened to spill from his lips. He tried to reason with himself that he was not doing Dennis any harm, but deep down, he knew he was kidding himself. He was walking a fine line by allowing himself to give into his desires. However, no matter how much his mind screamed at him to stop, he continued to pump his fist over his erect shaft. Staring down at Dennis’ soft pout, he could not help but imagine the full lips wrapped around his cock and screwing his eyes closed, he bit down hard on his lower lip as he ejaculated forcefully over his fingers._
> 
> _A post orgasmic calm washed over him and opening his eyes, he gazed back down at the object of his affection. The beautiful face remained tranquil in sleep, unaware of the sexual release that had occurred above him, and Tom came to the egoistic conclusion that what Dennis did not know, could not hurt him._

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35979742185/in/album-72157683140201352/)

**I Want You to Want Me**

Standing beneath the warm flow of water, Booker's fingers toyed with his growing erection.  He had been living with Tom for a month and although it had been a difficult transition, he was slowly starting to feel at home in the apartment.  But spending so much time with his friend had its drawbacks, just looking at him caused his pulse to quicken and blood to rush straight to his cock, leaving him feeling hard and unfulfilled.  His only privacy was in the bathroom and he spent every morning gratifying his needs, teasing his cock to life as he imagined Tom buried deep inside him.

A low moan of pleasure escaped his lips as his fist pumped rapidly over his erect shaft.  He was close and he longed to feel the explosive pleasure that jangled his nerves when he reached his climax.  But he knew the euphoria would only last for a matter of seconds, and then once again, he would be left feeling empty, bereft and yearning the feel of Tom’s touch.

Throwing back his head, he let out a strangled cry as his orgasm shot forth and warm semen coated his fingers.  As anticipated, a deep feeling of elation sent shivers throughout his naked body, and standing beneath the warm cascading water, he reveled in the sensation.  Moments later, the euphoric feeling was replaced by a chasmic void and with a sigh, he turned off the faucets and stepped dripping from the shower.  

Toweling himself dry, he came to a decision.  He was tired of feeling as though his life was on hold.  He wanted Tom in every sense of the word, as his friend, his partner and his lover, but he knew it was an unattainable dream, a delusional fantasy because it was obvious now that Tom was nothing like him, he could never fall in love with the man who had raped him.

With a sigh, he wrapped the towel around his waist and gazed at his reflection in the mirror.  If he wanted to feel normal again, he needed to become the Dennis Booker of old and that meant pushing all thoughts of Tom from his mind and finding himself a woman.

**

_That evening_

The smell of aftershave wafted into the room and turning in his seat, Tom watched as Booker emerged from the bedroom dressed in a dark green button down shirt, tight black jeans and boots.  “Wow,” he exclaimed with a smile, “why are you so dressed up?”

Booker lowered his eyes and shuffled his feet uncomfortably.  “I’ve got a date.”

Tom’s heart plummeted and clenching his fists, he stared back at Booker incredulously.  “A date?  With who?” 

A deep blush stained Booker’s cheeks.  “An old girlfriend,” he muttered and desperate to escape Tom’s penetrating stare, he hurried across the room and snatched up his keys.

A deep wave of jealousy engulfed Tom, crushing his chest and making it difficult for him to breathe.  Standing up, he intercepted Booker before he reached the door and grabbing hold of his arm, he spun him around.  “What girlfriend?” he asked in a strained voice.

Not wanting to explain his motivation for ringing a woman who had not been in his life for two years, Booker pulled angrily away from Tom’s grasp.  “Why?” he inquired crossly.  “What difference does it make to you?”

At that moment, Tom wanted to scream that it made _all_ the difference, that he was in love with him and he did not want some ex girlfriend giving him the loving that he so desperately wanted to shower upon him.  But the words stuck in his throat and turning away, he walked over to the couch and sitting down, he stared blankly at the TV.  “No difference,” he shot back sullenly.  “Have a great time.”

Booker hesitated for a moment, unsure whether he was making the right decision.  But when Tom remained silent, his eyes fixed stubbornly of the television screen, he opened the door and exited the apartment.

**

The smell of whiskey woke Tom from a troubled sleep and opening his eyes, he saw Booker sitting on the edge of the bed.  Rubbing a hand over his face, he squinted at the clock and was surprised to see it was almost morning.  “Dennis, are you okay?” he muttered sleepily.

Reaching out an unsteady hand, Booker gently caressed Tom’s face.  “You’re _veeery_ pretty,” he slurred drunkenly.  “Do ya wanna kiss me?”

Tom’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.  “W-What?” he stuttered.

Smiling seductively, Booker pulled back the sheet and trailed a fingertip down Tom’s naked torso.  Tom sucked in his breath as light fingers began to massage his cock through the thin cotton of his boxers.  “Dennis stop,” he gasped in a breathless voice, “this isn’t right.”

Leaning forward, Booker pressed his lips against Hanson’s full pout.  “Aww, c’mon Tommy, don’t pretend you don’t want it.  I’ve seen the way you look at me, the way you touch yourself at night when you think I’m sleeping.”

A look of mortification passed over Tom’s face.  “I-I don’t!” he spluttered, but even he could hear the lie in his voice.  

“Sure you do,” Dennis breathed enticingly and ducking his head, he nipped and sucked at the taut skin of Tom’s throat.  “You want me… _I_ know it, _you_ know it and all you have to do is lie there and—

The similarity to the words that had preceded his rape caused Tom’s chest to constrict in panic and he shoved Booker forcefully away from him.  “STOP!”

Booker sat back and staring down at Hanson, he pushed his lower lip into a petulant pout.  "You thought I was beautiful once," he muttered despondently.  “What’s changed?”

Tom ran a shaky hand over his mouth.  His erection strained against his boxers, aching to be released and he longed to give into temptation and let Booker seduce him.  But hearing the words that were so similar to the ones uttered in the same room almost a year before had brought back unwanted memories and he came to the sudden understanding that although he loved Dennis, he did not completely trust him.

As he studied Tom’s startled face, Booker’s dark eyes widened as a slow realization dawned upon him.  “Do I _frighten_ you?” he asked in disbelief.  When Tom remained silent, his voice rose in agitation.  “ _DO I?”_

Alarmed by Booker’s increasing hysteria, Tom shook his head back and forth.  “N-No,” he stammered.  “It’s just… you surprised me and—”

“BULLSHIT!” Dennis yelled and scrambling from the bed, he began to pace around the small room.  “I saw it in your eyes!  You were terrified I was going to rape you again!”

“Dennis no!” Tom exclaimed and getting to his feet, he approached his friend.  “It was just—”

With lightning speed, Booker’s hand shot out and grabbing hold of Hanson’s upper arm, he held it in a vice-like grip.  “Do you trust me?” he asked through gritted teeth, his face just inches from Tom’s.

Tom’s dark eyes widened in fear but he remained calm.  “No,” he admitted in a strained voice, “not completely.”

Booker let go of Hanson’s arm and turned away.  “I didn’t think so,” he murmured miserably.   

Afraid that he would lose Dennis if he did not make his feelings clear, Tom stepped forward and placing an arm around his waist, he gently turned him so they faced each other.  “It takes time to repair a trust that’s been broken,” he explained quietly, “but you’re right, I do want you… I think about you constantly and—”

“Then why did you push me away?” Booker asked moodily.  “If you want me in the same way I want you, why fight it?”

Lowering his eyes, Tom stared at the floor.  “Because I don’t think you really _do_ want me,” he muttered sadly.

Booker frowned and stepping back, he gave Tom an angry look.  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?  Do you think I don’t know my own mind?”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Tom let out a heavy sigh.  “I think you’re confused,” he confessed quietly.  “I think _you_ think you want to be in a homosexual relationship but the reality is, you’re not gay and once you find a woman you’re attracted to, you’ll realize _she’s_ who you want, not me.”

Memories of the past few hours flooded into Dennis’ mind and he blinked back tears of humiliation.  “Do you want to know what happened on my date?” he asked in a strained voice and without waiting for an answer, he spilled forth his inner agony.  “She tried to get me aroused and I felt _nothing.  NOTHING!_   She laughed at me and called me a freak before kicking me out.  But all I have to do is look at _you_ and I’m rock hard!  So don’t tell me what I’m feeling isn’t real because you have no fucking _idea_ how difficult it is being around you and not being able to _have_ you the way I want to!”

Shocked that Booker's yearnings mirrored his own, Tom stared back open mouthed.  “You _really_ feel that way?”

When Booker did not answer, Tom stood up and reaching out a comforting hand, he placed it on his shoulder.  "Dennis I'm _so_ sorry,” he whispered, "but what she said isn't—”

Recoiling from the contact, Booker pushed Tom away.  "Don't touch me," he snapped.  “You’ve made your feelings clear.  You look at me and you see a rapist, simple.”

Tom began to lose patience and he scowled back at Booker.  “When the _hell_ did I say that?” he retorted angrily.  “I just finished telling you that I have feelings for you.  Yeah, okay, I have some trust issues that I probably need to work on but the real reason I pushed you away is because I was _protecting_ you!”

Booker stared morosely down at the floor.  He felt sick to his stomach from the alcohol and the realization that he might have lost Tom’s friendship forever.  “Do you want me to leave?” he muttered in a barely audible voice.

A thousand thoughts whirled throughout Tom’s mind but Dennis leaving was not one of them.  Turning away, he walked towards the door.  “Of course I don’t want you to leave,” he sighed, “But I think we need some time a part.”

“Meaning?” Booker asked quietly.

“I’ve got a case and I’ve been putting off the trip to ‘Frisco because I didn’t want to leave you alone,” Tom explained calmly.  “So if you’re comfortable staying here without me…”

It was the moment Booker had been dreading, the abandonment.  He always knew it would happen eventually but he had expected it to be later rather than sooner.  However, as much as he feared the thought of being alone, he would not stand in the way of Tom’s job.  His friend had given up so much to help him and he refused to ruin his life more than he already had.

A sudden weariness overcame him and walking over to his mattress, he sat down.  “Sure,” he replied with a forced smile.  “I think you’re right, some time apart will do us both good.”

“Okay then,” Tom murmured and not knowing what else to say, he turned away and walked into the bathroom.

**

Four hours later, Dennis sat slouched on the couch, his only comfort a half empty bottle of whiskey.  Lifting the glass to his lips with an unsteady hand, he gulped down a large measure of the amber fluid.  The woody flavor flooded his taste buds and he sighed heavily as his throat burned and the warmth spread throughout his chest.  His fingers trailed over his bare torso, the soft pads registering every scar on his damaged body and tears of shame filled his eyes.  He had allowed dozens of men to abuse him and he had no one to blame but himself.  If he had even an ounce of Tom’s fortitude, he could have overcome the pain and suffering of his initial rapes and he would not be the broken man he was today.  He had given into his torment and the end result was that he was alone, with no family, friends or chance of employment.  For the briefest of moments, he had considered phoning Doctor Mayberry, but he was too ashamed to admit that he was a failure in the outside world.  He was seeing a therapist at a community mental health center once a week, but he felt no connection to the man and so he talked about random things without actually disclosing the depth of his despair.  He could not afford to see a private therapist and he did not feel comfortable asking Tom for money.  He was already living rent-free and he paid very little towards food and other necessities.  His disability pension did not stretch far and he knew how lucky he was to have Tom taking care of him except in reality, it made everything that much harder.

Emptying his glass, he immediately refilled it and stared blankly at the muted television.  Tom would be away for two days and during that time, he had no plans except to numb his mind with alcohol. 

 


	25. Frenzied

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I probably won't be posting a new chapter until sometime next week. Damn real life getting in the way of my creative flow!**
> 
> **In peace**  
>  **OpenPage x**  
>     
>  _Previously: Four hours later, Dennis sat slouched on the couch, his only comfort a half empty bottle of whiskey.  Lifting his glass to his lips with an unsteady hand, he gulped down a large measure of the amber fluid.  The woody flavor flooded his taste buds and he sighed heavily as his throat burned and the warmth spread throughout his chest.  His fingers trailed over his bare torso, the soft pads registering every scar on his damaged body and tears of shame filled his eyes.  He had allowed dozens of men to abuse him and he had no one to blame but himself.  If he had even an ounce of Tom’s fortitude, he could have overcome the pain and suffering of his initial rapes and he would not be the broken man he was today.  He had given into his torment and the end result was that he was alone, with no family, friends or chance of employment.  For the briefest of moments, he had considered phoning Doctor Mayberry, but he was too ashamed to admit that he was a failure in the outside world.  He was seeing a therapist at a community mental health center once a week, but he felt no connection to the man and so he talked about random things without actually disclosing the depth of his despair.  He could not afford to see a private therapist and he did not feel comfortable asking Tom for money.  He was already living rent-free and he paid very little towards food and other necessities.  His disability pension did not stretch far and he knew how lucky he was to have Tom taking care of him except in reality, it made everything that much harder._
> 
> _Emptying his glass, he immediately refilled it and stared blankly at the muted television.  Tom would be away for two days and during that time, he had no plans except to numb his mind with alcohol._

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35590682700/in/album-72157683140201352/)

**Frenzied**  

After  a six-hour drive, all Tom wanted was a hot shower and something to eat.  Turning his key in the lock, he pushed open the door to his apartment, but as he took in the confronting scene before him, his feet remained frozen to the spot.  He had only been away two nights and in that time, his home had turned into something resembling a war zone.  Dozens of empty beer bottles lay strewn across the floor, along with several near empty bottles of Jack Daniel’s.  The couch was turned over, its tiny wooden legs pointing towards the ceiling in silent protest and its cushions scattered in disarray around room, their covers stained with food and liquid. Several knick-knacks lay broken on the floor and his record collection was scattered across the room. Turning his head towards the kitchen, he saw dirty plates covering the counter top, each encrusted with half eaten food that had hardened in the warm weather. The trashcan was on its side, its contents spilling onto the floor in a sticky, congealed mess, adding a foul aroma to the airless room. It looked like the aftermath of many a college party he had attended but the reality was far more disturbing. Booker had gone on an alcohol-fueled bender and that meant only one thing; his friend was falling apart.

Pursing his lips together, he angrily threw down his bag and picking his way through the debris scattered across the floor, he pushed open the bedroom door and stared into the darkened room.  The smell of stale sweat and alcohol assaulted his nostrils and he wrinkled his nose in disgust.  Moving across the room, he drew back the curtains and opened the window, instantly flooding the room with soft moonlight and some much-needed fresh air.  Turning back around, he saw Dennis passed out naked on his bed, an arm thrown over his face as though attempting to block out the world.  Tom’s eyes traveled down the length of the toned body, spread out in an unconscious display of exhibitionism and his breath hitched in his throat.  It was the first time he had seen Dennis in a state of undress since his rape and he could not avert his gaze from the dozens of scars that crisscrossed the muscular torso.  It was a psychopath’s sadistic masterpiece, a human etching depicting control and humiliation and the sight tore at his heart, immediately extinguishing his anger.  If anyone had an excuse to seek comfort from alcohol, Booker did, he had been through more than one man should ever have to bear.  But it was also a disturbing insight into Dennis’ troubled mind.  He had turned to alcohol after their argument and that meant he no longer possessed the skills to deal with his anger and frustration.  He was seeking a crutch, a way to soothe his inner turmoil and it worried Tom that it could become his coping mechanism.

Stepping forward, he carefully pulled the crumpled sheet up over Dennis’ body, covering his naked form, and with a final glance, he exited the bedroom and quietly closed the door.  He gazed around at the messy apartment and just as he was deciding where to start cleaning first, he heard a knock at his door.  He stepped over a pile of clothes that had mysteriously found their way into the middle of his living room, and pulling the door open a crack, he was greeted by Penhall’s smiling face.  “Hey buddy, wanna go for a drink?”

Rubbing a hand over his tired eyes, Tom returned a weary smile.  “Now’s not really a good time Doug."

Never one to take no for an answer, Penhall tilted his head on one side and gave Tom a quizzical look.  “Why not?  It’s Friday night, we always used to have drinks on a Friday night.  It’s only since Booker came to live—”

Stepping back, Tom opened the door, revealing the battlefield that had once been his home.  

“Jesus,” Penhall muttered as he entered the apartment.  “What the hell have you been doing?”

Tom closed the door and let out a sigh.  “Not me.  Booker.  I went away for a few days and this is what I came home to.”

Doug mentally counted the empty bottles that littered the floor.  “He really tied one on,” he stated quietly.  "I thought he was doing okay.”

Tom motioned for Doug to help him right the couch and once it was back on its legs, he replaced the stained cushions and feeling exhausted, he flopped down and stared despondently up at his friend.  “We had a fight.”

Taking a seat next to Hanson, Doug studied his face with interest.  “What about?”

Uncomfortable at Penhall’s close scrutiny, Tom lowered his gaze.  “It doesn’t matter," he mumbled, "we made up and I thought he was okay with it.  But then I came home and… well, obviously he was more upset than I thought.”

Taking a deep breath, Doug decided to be direct.  “You don’t have to put up with this Hanson.”

Tom lifted his gaze and gave Doug a sad smile.  “Yeah I do.  He doesn’t have anyone else and he’s so damaged, I can’t just leave him to—”

Doug cleared his throat in warning and shifted his gaze furtively towards the bedroom door.  Turning around, Tom saw Booker standing in the doorway, the crumpled bed sheet wrapped protectively around his body.  He looked distraught and Tom mentally cursed himself for opening up to Doug with Booker in the apartment.  He quickly stood up and his mouth twitched into a self-conscious smile.  “Hey Dennis, I didn’t know you were awake.”

Booker’s tortured eyes appeared huge in his pale face and Tom felt a physical pain stabbing at his heart.  “Dennis?” he whispered.  “Are you okay?”

A look of pure anguish passed over Dennis’ face and he turned away.  “I need a shower.”

Penhall and Hanson watched silently as the dejected figure shuffled into the bathroom and closed the door.  Sitting back down, Tom ran a hand through his hair and gave his friend a wretched look.  “Shit.”

“Yeah,” Doug replied quietly.  “I’m guessing he heard what you said.”

Exhaling heavily, Tom rested his head in his hands.  “I feel like a complete asshole.  Now he’s going to think I’m only helping him because I feel obligated.”

Penhall stared at Tom’s bowed head whilst rubbing his hand pensively over his chin.  “Maybe that _is_ the real reason,” he suggested softly.  “You feel guilty.”

Tom lifted his head and stared angrily at his friend.  “Of _course_ I don’t!” he refuted forcefully.  “I’m doing this because Dennis is my friend.”

“And because in some twisted way, you feel responsible for him seeking out Keppler,” Doug stated knowingly.  “Don’t bullshit me Tommy, you think it’s your fault that he raped you.”

Tom’s eyes filled with pain and standing up, he began to pace around the messy room.  “Of course it’s my fucking fault!” he exclaimed.  “How can it not be?  I made sexual advances towards a straight man who had been brutally raped.  What kind of a selfish prick does that?  I wanted him so badly and I didn’t give a shit about anything else.  But that’s not why I’m doing this.  I’m doing this because I love him!”

Doug’s face flushed pink.  He still found it difficult to come to terms with Tom’s bisexuality and to hear him speaking so candidly about his feelings for Booker made him slightly uncomfortable.  But he loved Tom with all his heart and he wanted him to be happy.  He just hoped his infatuation with Dennis would not stand in the way of him finding his one true love.

Getting to his feet, he draped a companionable arm around his friend’s shoulders.  “You’re beating yourself up over this and it’s not... your... fault.  Like you said, Booker’s damaged, he was bound to commit some violent act whether you came onto him or not.”

Too tired to argue, Tom sat dejectedly back down on the couch.  "Maybe," he muttered.

Feeling the need to do something productive, Doug maneuvered his way through the clutter and entered the kitchen.  "Coffee?"

Tom nodded again.  "Yeah, thanks."

Doug busied himself making a strong brew and when he returned to the living room, he found Tom staring miserably at the floor.  "Here," he murmured, handing him a steaming mug of much welcomed caffeine.

“Thanks,” Tom muttered and grasping the cup in both hands, he took a sip and gasped as the hot beverage scolded his tongue.  He remained silent until he heard the shower turning off and looking across at Doug, he gave him a wan smile.  “I think you’d better go.”

Doug frowned.  “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Tom replied with a heavy sigh.  “I really need to talk to Dennis alone.”

Penhall stood up and headed towards the door.  “Okay… well, if you need me—”

“I know where to find you,” Tom quipped quietly.  “Thanks Doug.”

With his hand on the doorknob, Doug turned around and revealed his lopsided grin.  “You owe me a drink,” he teased and opening the door, he exited the apartment.

Just moments later, the bathroom door opened and Booker emerged through a waft of steam.  Wearing a towel around his waist, he ignored Tom and walking into the bedroom, he slammed the door closed behind him.  

A tension headache pulsed behind Tom’s eyes and screwing them closed, he pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers in an effort to alleviate the pain.  Minutes passed and opening his eyes again, he stared morosely at his messy apartment, and with a sigh, he started to clean up.

**

_Two hours later_

Tom cautiously entered the dark bedroom.  When his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw Booker stretched out on the mattress, dressed in boxers and black t-shirt, a muscular arm once again covering his face.  Assuming he was asleep, Tom turned to leave when a haunting voice muttered from the shadows, “I’m sorry.”

Tom walked over to the mattress and sat down on the floor.  “No, _I’m_ sorry.  I shouldn’t have been talking about you behind your back.”

Lowering his arm, Booker gazed up at his friend, his dark eyes filled with misery.  “But you were right, I _am_ damaged and you shouldn’t have to feel obligated to take care of me.  I’ll speak to my therapist tomorrow about moving into a group home.”

Several long seconds passed before Tom finally spoke.  “Move over,” he murmured.

Surprised by the request, Dennis shuffled across the mattress.  His breath caught in his throat when Tom lay down next to him and wrapped a protective arm around his waist.  “I don’t want you to live in a group home,” he whispered into his ear.  “I want you here with me.”

With his heart hammering in his chest, Dennis turned and peered at Tom through the gloom.  “Why?” he asked breathlessly.

Tom’s hand traveled slowly upwards and cupped Dennis’ face.  “Because I _love_ you.”

Dennis’ stomach flip-flopped and his heart fluttered with excitement.  “What does that mean exactly,” he asked, unable to keep the anticipation out of his voice.

Smiling playfully, Tom brushed Dennis’ dark hair from his face.  “It means if _you_ want to, then _I_ want to.”

Hot desire flashed in Dennis’ eyes and placing an arm around Tom, he drew him in close.  “I want to,” he breathed.  “Oh God I want to.”

Without hesitation, Tom brushed his lips over Dennis’ soft pout, eliciting a low moan of approval.  Encouraged by the sound, he parted his lips and kissed Dennis tenderly.  A moist tongue immediately entered his mouth and it was his turn to moan in pleasure.  Their tongues entwined, dancing slowly together, reveling in each other’s taste.  Tom breathed in the subtle aroma of Booker’s shampoo, the familiar scent awakening his desires.  But he controlled his impulse to explore Dennis’ body with his fingers and instead, he took pleasure from the softness of his lips and the faint taste of spearmint toothpaste that tingled across his taste buds.  It was what he had dreamed about for eighteen-months and he wanted to savor every moment.  

Minutes passed and as their kiss deepened, a hand caressed his butt cheek, squeezing it playfully.  His cock hardened at the thrill of the sensation and groaning loudly, he threw a leg over Dennis' body.  When Dennis thrust against him, he feared things were moving too fast.  He began to pull away, but a firm hand drew him closer and he felt Booker’s erection grinding into him.  ‘Please,” Booker moaned desperately against his mouth, “I want this… I _need_ this…”

Tom realized that they were too far-gone to stop and rolling on top of Dennis, he broke the kiss and gazed down into two jet black eyes filled with desperate longing.  “Okay,” he panted heavily, “but we do this with our clothes on.”

Although not exactly what Dennis had in mind, he nodded his head frantically up and down in agreement.  “Okay,” he moaned and pulling Tom closer, he devoured him with his mouth.  His hands grasped Tom’s buttocks, holding him firm and as their bodies crushed together, he rubbed his cock against the hardness pressing against him.  Their kiss became frenzied, teeth and tongues clashing in a frenetic need to consume each other’s essence.  Each man’s movements became more frantic as they desperately sought the euphoria that was just moments away.  

Bucking his hips upward, Dennis held Tom close and letting out a strangled cry, his orgasm hit hard and fast.  Tom continued to grind against the hard body beneath him and seconds later, he too shuddered out his release.  As their bodies relaxed, their kiss slowed until Tom finally pulled away and gazed down at Dennis with tender eyes.  “Shit,” he muttered with a half smile.

A slight frown wrinkled Dennis’ forehead.  “Shit in a good way… or shit in a bad way?”

Pressing his lips against Dennis’, Tom kissed him lazily.  “Shit in a good way,” he murmured against the full pout.

Dennis’ smiled into the kiss.  He had waited a long time but once again, his life seemed worth living.  



	26. Fighting a Losing Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sorry for the delay in posting.**
> 
> **In peace**  
>  **OpenPage x**  
>     
>  _Previously: Tom walked over to the mattress and sat down on the floor. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been talking about you behind your back.”_
> 
> _Lowering his arm, Booker gazed up at his friend, his dark eyes filled with misery. “But you were right, I am damaged and you shouldn’t have to feel obligated to take care of me. I’ll speak to my therapist tomorrow about moving into a group home.”_
> 
> _Several long seconds passed before Tom finally spoke. “Move over,” he murmured._
> 
> _Surprised by the request, Dennis shuffled across the mattress. His breath caught in his throat when Tom lay down next to him and wrapped a protective arm around his waist. “I don’t want you to live in a group home,” he whispered into his ear. “I want you here with me.”_
> 
> _With his heart hammering in his chest, Dennis turned and peered at Tom through the gloom. “Why?” he asked breathlessly._
> 
> _Tom’s hand traveled slowly upwards and cupped Dennis’ face. “Because I love you.”_
> 
> _Dennis’ stomach flip-flopped and his heart fluttered with excitement. “What does that mean exactly,” he asked, unable to keep the anticipation out of his voice._
> 
> _Smiling playfully, Tom brushed Dennis’ dark hair from his face. “It means if you want to, then I want to.”_
> 
> _Hot desire flashed in Dennis’ eyes and placing an arm around Tom, he drew him in close. “I want to,” he breathed. “Oh God I want to.”_
> 
> _Without hesitation, Tom brushed his lips over Dennis’ soft pout, eliciting a low moan of approval. Encouraged by the sound, he parted his lips and kissed Dennis tenderly. A moist tongue immediately entered his mouth and it was his turn to moan in pleasure. Their tongues entwined, dancing slowly together, reveling in each other’s taste. Tom breathed in the subtle aroma of Booker’s shampoo, the familiar scent awakening his desires. But he controlled his impulse to explore Dennis’ body with his fingers and instead, he took pleasure from the softness of his lips and the faint taste of spearmint toothpaste that tingled across his taste buds. It was what he had dreamed about for eighteen-months and he wanted to savor every moment._
> 
> _Minutes passed and as their kiss deepened, a hand caressed his butt cheek, squeezing it playfully. His cock hardened at the thrill of the sensation and groaning loudly, he threw a leg over Dennis' body. When Dennis thrust against him, he feared things were moving too fast. He began to pull away, but a firm hand drew him closer and he felt Booker’s erection grinding into him. ‘Please,” Booker moaned desperately against his mouth, “I want this… I need this…”_
> 
> _Tom realized that they were too far-gone to stop and rolling on top of Dennis, he broke the kiss and gazed down into two jet black eyes filled with desperate longing. “Okay,” he panted heavily, “but we do this with our clothes on.”_
> 
> _Although not exactly what Dennis had in mind, he nodded his head frantically up and down in agreement. “Okay,” he moaned and pulling Tom on top of him, he devoured him with his mouth. His hands grasped Tom’s buttocks, holding him firm and as their bodies crushed together, he rubbed his cock against the hardness pressing against him. Their kiss became frenzied, teeth and tongues clashing in a frenetic need to consume each other’s essence. Each man’s movements became more frantic as they desperately sought the euphoria that was just moments away._
> 
> _Bucking his hips upward, Dennis held Tom close and letting out a strangled cry, his orgasm hit hard and fast. Tom continued to grind against the hard body beneath him and seconds later, he too shuddered out his release. As their bodies relaxed, their kiss slowed until Tom finally pulled away and gazed down at Dennis with tender eyes. “Shit,” he muttered with a half smile._
> 
> _A slight frown wrinkled Dennis’ forehead. “Shit in a good way… or shit in a bad way?”_
> 
> _Pressing his lips against Dennis’, Tom kissed him lazily. “Shit in a good way,” he murmured against the full pout._
> 
> _Dennis’ smiled into the kiss. He had waited a long time but once again, his life seemed worth living._

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35590682600/in/album-72157683140201352/)

**Fighting a Losing Battle**  

Lying on the mattress staring up at the ceiling, Tom listened to the hypnotic sound of steady breathing that resonated softly beside him.  He could feel the warmth of Booker’s body pressing against him, tranquil in sleep and the aftermath of his orgasmic release.  It was a sensory encounter he had shared with many lovers but this time it felt different, this time it was with Booker, the man he had loved for so long, the man he had fought so desperately to save… the man who had raped him.

With a sigh, he gently extricated himself from his lover’s hold and climbed from the bed.  He stood for a moment staring down at Dennis’ beautiful face and he felt an immediate stirring in his groin.  “Jesus,” he muttered softly and turning away, he exited the bedroom and closed the door.  He desperately wanted a drink but the need for a shower overrode his sudden desire to numb his mind with alcohol.  His eyes glanced down at the stain on the front of his denims and he rubbed a shaky hand over his mouth.  He had made a mistake, a huge, monumental mistake by allowing his guilt and love for Booker to override his moral compass.  The emotional damage his friend had endured had long reaching consequences and jumping head first into a sexual relationship was probably not going to help with his recovery.  Dennis needed time, time to forgive himself and time to find his inner strength again because only by doing so, would he finally begin to heal.  Conan had cunningly taken away his willpower and independence and Tom was terrified that he thought of him as a replacement, someone to take care of him and tell him what to do, how to think and most worryingly, give him the sexual gratification he so desperately desired.  He should have listened to his instincts and allowed time for their friendship to grow instead of acting on his own sexual needs.  He had messed up big time and now he had to find a way to tell Dennis that he was not ready to enter into a sexual relationship with him and that they needed to work on their friendship first before they took things further.

A soft moan of frustration escaped his lips and walking into the bathroom, he closed the door.  Ignoring his reflection in the mirror, he stripped off his clothes and threw them into the laundry hamper.  At that very moment, he hated himself and he knew if he caught a glimpse of his reflection, he would slam his fist into the image staring back at him.  It pained him to admit it but Penhall was right, his judgment often became clouded where Booker was concerned and that was his downfall.  His feelings were so absolute that when he secretly watched Booker doing the most mundane of tasks, he often found himself forgetting to breathe.  The emotion he felt was so overwhelming he found it physically painful and yet mixed in with the intense feeling was the added confusion of loving a man who had raped him.  That realization made him question his own sanity and that was not something he was ready to confront.

Stepping into the shower, he turned on the faucets and let the warm water wash away his misgivings.  He had made a mistake but it was not too late to rectify it and all he could hope was that Dennis would understand his reasons.

Bowing his head, he started to relax his tense muscles when the door suddenly opened and sent a whisper of cool air into the bathroom, rippling the shower curtain.  Wiping the water from his eyes, he peered around the plastic drape and saw Booker standing in the doorway.  "Is everything okay?" he asked in surprise.

Dennis gave a nervous smile.  "Can I join you?"

A shiver of excitement ran down Tom's spine but he quickly pushed the feeling aside.  Averting his eyes from Dennis’ expectant gaze, he let out a soft sigh.  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Oh,” Booker replied dejectedly and turning away, he exited the room.

"Dennis wait," Tom called out, and turning off the faucets, he stepped from the shower.  Wrapping a towel around his waist, he pushed his dripping hair from his eyes and hurried into the living room.  Grabbing hold of Dennis’ arm, he was surprised when his friend pulled away.  “C’mon Dennis,” he beseeched, “don’t be like that.”

Spinning around, Booker glared at Tom angrily.  “Like _what?”_ he growled.  “An hour ago you’re dry humping me and now you’re giving me the brush off!  How the fuck am I supposed to react?”

Tom lowered his gaze to the floor.  “You’re right and I’m sorry but—”

Booker’s eyes flashed dangerously.  “If you say you’re doing it to protect me I swear to God I’ll ram my fist down your throat,” he replied through gritted teeth.  

Tom immediately closed his mouth.  “Well?” Booker asked impatiently.  “What bullshit excuse are you going to come up with for pushing me away after coming onto me like a dog in heat?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Tom muttered despondently and flopping down on the couch, he rubbed his hands over his tired eyes.   “I’m just scared.”

Booker’s hands clenched into fists.  “That I’ll rape you again?” he asked in a strained voice.

Tom shook his head.  “No.  That it won’t work.”

Some of the anger Booker felt slowly dissipated and sitting down next to Tom, he gave his friend a measured look.  “What do you mean, why wouldn’t it work?”

Running a hand through his wet hair, Tom’s lips twitched apologetically and his dark eyes filled with sadness.  “Because I don’t completely trust you,” he confessed softly.  “I love you Dennis but I’m not sure that’s enough.”

Booker’s heart thudded in his chest and his eyes desperately searched Tom’s face.  “What do I have to do to prove to you that I’d _never_ hurt you again?”

Tom chewed anxiously on his lower lip and looked Booker straight in the eyes.  “I think we need to get to know each other better before we… well, what I mean is—”

Booker lowered his gaze.  “You want to be friends first,” he interrupted with a sigh.

Shuffling across the couch, Tom placed a hand behind Booker’s neck and his fingers absently played with the soft hair at the nape.  “Yes,” he declared quietly.  “I think we need to spend time together as friends before we take our relationship to the next level.  We need to take it slow.”

A long silence drew out between them before Dennis lifted his gaze and peered up through his long, dark lashes.  “How slow?” he asked with an impish smile.

At that moment, Booker looked so beautiful that Tom’s breath caught in his throat, but he refused to let his cock rule his head.  “Kissing’s okay but nothing more, at least for a couple of months, and I think we should speak to your therapist about us.”

Booker immediately pulled away and a large scowl played over his face.  “Why?” he asked brusquely.  “Do you want to make sure I’m not crazy _before_ you fuck me?”

Tom covered his face with his hands.  “Jesus Christ,” he muttered in frustration.  “This is _exactly_ why I think we need to take it slow.  You don’t trust me any more than I trust you.”

The realization that Tom was right slowly dawned on Dennis and his lower lip pushed into a petulant pout.  “Maybe you’re right,” he conceded moodily, “but I don’t want to discuss our relationship with my therapist.  We either work this out ourselves or we don’t do it at all.”

Somewhat surprised by Booker’s ultimatum, Tom took a moment to consider his options.  If he pushed Dennis to speak to his therapist, he could end up losing him forever.  However, he was not sure that they could have a successful relationship without the advice and intervention of a trained professional.  But the more he thought about it, the more he felt himself weakening.  He loved Dennis too much to let him go so easily and that meant he needed to compromise.

“Okay,” he surrendered with a sigh, “we won’t speak to your therapist… _yet_.”

Booker raised his eyebrows.  “Yet?” he questioned.  

Tom stubbornly stood his ground.  “Yeah… _yet_.  I still think we need help overcoming certain things but I’m willing to give it a go first, to see what happens.  Okay?”

Although not exactly what Booker wanted to hear, he grudgingly agreed.  “Okay,” he muttered but secretly, he knew he would never include Tom in one of his therapy sessions because he was too frightened that if he let his guard down, he would lose him forever.  During his therapy with Doctor Mayberry, he had managed to get away with divulging very little about his true feelings, using clever wordplay instead to satisfy both the doctor and Tom. He had become adept at keeping secrets as a way of protecting himself and even though he knew it did not help his recovery, he was too afraid of ridicule to reveal every thought that plagued his mind.

Pushing the thought aside, he gazed up at the clock.  “It’s still the middle of the night, are you coming back to bed?”

More than anything, Tom wanted to hold Dennis in his arms and fall asleep breathing in his intoxicating scent but he shook his head.  “I have some paperwork to catch up on,” he replied.  

Hurt by Tom’s rejection, Booker started to protest but he quickly stopped himself.  “Okay,” he muttered and getting to his feet, he began to walk towards the bedroom before stopping and addressing Tom in an uncertain voice.  “Can I sleep in your bed?”

Tom’s face relaxed into a smile.  “Of course,” he murmured softly.  “Get some sleep and I’ll join you in a while.”

Booker nodded and walking into the bedroom, he silently closed the door.

**

_4 a.m._

Dressed only in the towel he had wrapped around his waist hours before, Tom silently entered the bedroom and gazed down at Booker’s sleeping face.  He had downed a half bottle of whiskey along with several beers and he felt pleasantly intoxicated.  Pulling the towel from around his waist, he threw it to the floor and scrabbled around in his bureau drawer.  After a minute of searching, he finally pulled out a clean pair of boxers and swaying unsteadily on his feet, he attempted to put them on.  When he finally succeeded, he smiled drunkenly to himself and falling onto the bed, he stretched out and let out a contented sigh.

Moments later, a muscular arm circled his waist and a warm body snuggled into him.  Rolling onto his side, he gazed into Booker’s sleepy eyes and grinned goofily.  “Hey,” he murmured.

Booker wrinkled his nose as alcoholic fumes assaulted his nostrils.  “You’ve been drinking,” he muttered drowsily.  “I thought you were doing paperwork.”

“Was,” Tom mumbled drunkenly.  “I just needed something to help me relax.”

It was on the tip of Booker’s tongue to say, _“I could have relaxed you,”_ but he let the moment pass.  Tom had made his intentions perfectly clear and like it or not, he had to respect his decision.  However, that did not mean that he would not take advantage of what was within the boundaries and moving in closer, he brushed Tom’s tousled hair from his eyes.  “Can I kiss you?”

Tom bit down seductively on his lower lip.  “Are you making a pass at me ‘cause I’m drunk,” he breathed in a husky voice.

“Maybe,” Booker grinned.  “But you said kissing’s okay so…”

“So kiss me,” Tom moaned and his eyes fluttered closed in anticipation.

Booker did not need to be asked twice and leaning forward, he pressed his lips against Tom’s partially opened mouth.  A moist tongue eagerly entwined with his own and the sour aftertaste of whiskey mixed with his saliva, bringing his taste buds to life.  But it was not unpleasant, it was powerful and masculine and it made him want to devour Tom even more.  

His fingers traveled down the smooth skin of Tom’s back and slipping inside the waistband of his boxers, he gave the firm butt cheek beneath his fingers a playful squeeze. Tom groaned into the kiss and thrusting his pelvis forward, he pressed his hardening erection against Booker’s own growing cock.  “This isn’t gonna work,” he gasped breathlessly as he sucked excitedly on Booker’s lower lip.  “We need to stop.”

“Or we could just go with it,” Booker moaned into Tom’s hot mouth, his needs becoming more frantic as each second passed.

“I don’t… wanna… ruin… our chances… of a proper… relationship,” Tom panted, but his body continued to grind against Dennis’, making his protestations meaningless.  “We need… to take it… slow.”

“Fuck taking it slow,” Booker asserted and pushing Tom onto his back, he trailed his tongue up the long column of his throat, savoring the sweet taste of his skin.  “What’s wrong with touching?”

All reason left Tom’s mind as Booker continued to nip and suck at his throat.  He was weak, he hungered for contact and at that moment, all he wanted was to feel Booker’s fingers wrapped around his cock.  “Nothing,” he moaned.  “Touch me… oh God Dennis _touch_ me.”

“Tommy,” Booker groaned excitedly and sliding his hand around the inside of Tom’s boxers, he released his cock and ran his fingers up the hard shaft. 

Tom’s hips bucked forward and tangling his fingers in Booker’s dark hair, he kissed him passionately.  “Yes,” he gasped against Dennis’ mouth, “God yes!”

Booker wrapped his fingers around Tom’s cock and slowly moved his hand up and down the length of his erection.  “Faster!” Tom exclaimed breathlessly.  “Faster, faster, faster!”

Breaking the kiss, Booker stilled his hand and gazed down into Tom’s dilated pupils.  “Stroke me,” he requested in a husky voice.  “I wanna come with you.”

Tom’s eyes flashed with desire but in that moment, he also felt a flicker of apprehension.  “Are we doing the right thing?” he asked uneasily.

Without hesitation, Booker’s hand began to move back over Tom’s erection.  “Does it _feel_ wrong?” he asked mischievously.

A low groan of pleasure escaped from between Tom’s lips.  “Nooo,” he moaned as he squirmed beneath Booker’s touch.  “It feels… so… good.”

Leaning forward, Booker gently tugged at Tom’s hooped earring with his teeth.  “Then we’re doing the right thing,” he murmured softly.

Tired of being the sensible one, Tom gave into his desires and wrapping his fingers around Booker’s cock, he started to jerk him off.

Heavy breathing resonated throughout the room as the two men sought comfort in each other’s bodies.  Tom’s orgasm hit first and with a cry of delight, he ejaculated over Dennis’ fingers.  Moments later, Booker shuddered out his release, covering his stomach and Tom’s fingers in warm, sticky semen.  Both men struggled to catch their breath, but as a post-climactic calm finally washed over them, Tom sank back against the pillow and pulling Booker into his arms, he kissed him tenderly.  When the kiss finally ended, Dennis laid his head against Tom’s chest and closed his eyes.  Through subtle manipulation and perseverance, he finally had what he wanted; he and Tom were now a couple and a new chapter in his life was beginning, which hopefully meant laying the past to rest.  


 


	27. Plagued with Passion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Previously: His fingers traveled down the smooth skin of Tom’s back and slipping inside the waistband of his boxers, he gave the firm butt cheek a playful squeeze. Tom groaned into the kiss and thrusting his pelvis forward, he pressed his hardening erection against Booker’s own growing cock. “This isn’t gonna work,” he gasped breathlessly as he sucked excitedly on Booker’s lower lip. “We need to stop.”_
> 
> _“Or we could just go with it,” Booker moaned into Tom’s hot mouth, his needs becoming more frantic as each second passed._
> 
> _“I don’t… wanna… ruin… our chances… of a proper… relationship,” Tom panted, but his body continued to grind against Dennis’, making his protestation meaningless. “We need… to take it… slow.”_
> 
> _“Fuck taking it slow,” Booker asserted and pushing Tom onto his back, he trailed his tongue up the long column of his throat, savoring the sweet taste of his skin. “What’s wrong with touching?”_
> 
> _All reason left Tom’s mind as Booker continued to nip and suck at his throat. He was weak, he hungered for contact and at that moment, all he wanted was to feel Booker’s fingers wrapped around his cock. “Nothing,” he moaned. “Touch me… oh God Dennis touch me.”_
> 
> _“Tommy,” Booker groaned excitedly and reaching down, he slid his hand inside the waistband of Tom’s boxers and releasing his cock, he ran his fingers up the hard shaft._
> 
> _Tom’s hips bucked forward and tangling his fingers in Booker’s dark hair, he kissed him passionately. “Yes,” he gasped against Dennis’ mouth, “God yes!”_
> 
> _Booker wrapped his fingers around Tom’s cock and slowly moved his hand up and down the length of his erection. “Faster!” Tom exclaimed breathlessly. “Faster, faster, faster!”_
> 
> _Breaking the kiss, Booker stilled his hand and gazed down into Tom’s dilated pupils. “Stroke me,” he requested in a husky voice. “I wanna come with you.”_
> 
> _Tom’s eyes flashed with desire but in that moment, he also felt a flicker of apprehension. “Are we doing the right thing?” he asked uneasily._
> 
> _Without hesitation, Booker’s hand began to move back over Tom’s erection. “Does it feel wrong?” he asked mischievously._
> 
> _A low groan of pleasure escaped from between Tom’s lips. “Nooo,” he moaned as he squirmed beneath Booker’s touch. “It feels… so… good.”_
> 
> _Leaning forward, Booker gently tugged at Tom’s hooped earring with his teeth. “Then we’re doing the right thing,” he murmured softly._
> 
> _Tired of being the sensible one, Tom gave into his desires and wrapping his fingers around Booker’s cock, he started to jerk him off._
> 
> _Heavy breathing resonated throughout the room as the two men sought comfort in each other’s bodies. Tom’s orgasm hit first and with a cry of delight, he ejaculated over Dennis’ fingers. Moments later, Booker shuddered out his release, covering his stomach and Tom’s fingers in warm, sticky semen. Both men struggled to catch their breath, but as a post-climatic calm finally washed over them, Tom sank back against the pillow and pulling Booker into his arms, he kissed him tenderly. When the kiss finally ended, Dennis laid his head against Tom’s chest and closed his eyes. Through subtle manipulation and perseverance, he finally had what he wanted; he and Tom were now a couple and a new chapter in his life was beginning, which hopefully meant laying the past to rest._

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35590682510/in/album-72157683140201352/)

**Plagued with Passion**  

The smell of bacon and eggs roused Tom from a deep, coma-like slumber.  He lifted his head from the pillow and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he peered at the bedside clock through his long unruly bangs.  The red luminous numbers revealed that it was 8.18 a.m. and with a groan, he flopped back against the pillow and buried his face in the downy warmth.  He had been asleep for only four hours and he felt thickheaded, hung over and less than ready to start the day.  Grabbing hold of the quilt, he pulled it over his head, effectively blocking out the morning sunlight that was streaming in through the partially opened curtains, and with a sigh, he snuggled into the soft mattress and closed his eyes.  It was Saturday morning and he could sleep for as long as it took for him to feel human again.

Just as he was beginning to drift off, he felt the mattress depress and a hand pulled back the covers.  Screwing his eyes tightly closed against the unwelcome brightness, he threw his arm over his face.  “Go away,” he mumbled crossly.  “I’m sleeping.”

A light hand traveled down the bare skin of his back, sending tingles down his spine and moments later, Booker’s breathless voice whispered in his ear, “I was gonna offer you bacon and eggs but how ‘bout I offer you something else instead.”

A slow, sleepy smile played over Tom’s lips and lowering his arm, he opened his eyes and gazed up at Booker through heavy lids.  “What did you have in mind?”

Booker’s dark eyes lit up and he bit down seductively on his lower lip.  “What about a blow job?” he asked somewhat hesitantly.

The thought of Booker’s full lips wrapped around his cock sucking him off made Tom almost instantly hard and any misgivings he felt about rushing into a full-blown relationship with a man recently released from a psychiatric institution instantly left his mind.  His eyes flashed with longing and a soft moan escaped his lips.  “Fuck yeah.”

Climbing onto the bed, Booker rolled Tom over and slowly pulled down his boxers, revealing his semi-hard erection.  Discarding the unwanted material onto the floor, he gazed down at the beautiful body lying before him and his own cock twitched to life.  “Fuck you’re beautiful,” he whispered.

Tom’s eyes softened and reaching out, he gently cupped Booker’s face in his palm.  “So are you.”

Booker lowered his eyes and shook his head.  “No I’m not,” he muttered.  “I’m covered in scars.  Nobody could find that attractive.”

Lowering his hand, Tom pushed it under the soft black material of Booker’s t-shirt and ran his fingertips over the bumpy ridges that adorned his lover’s torso.  “I don’t care about your scars,” he stated in a gentle voice.  “In my eyes, you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever met.”

A soft pink glow colored Booker’s cheeks and to hide his embarrassment, he waggled his eyebrows mischievously.  “I’m _sooo_ gonna make you squirm.”

Tom’s pupils dilated with hot desire and bending up his knees, he spread his legs in readiness.  “Do it,” he breathed.

Positioning himself between Tom’s open legs, Booker closed his eyes and took several deep breaths.  This was what he had been waiting for; after imagining the moment for so long, he now had the chance to take Tom in his mouth.  He would finally be able to savor the taste and uniqueness of his lover’s juices against his tongue and he longed to swallow his essence so they would be as one, forever bound by the salty fluid that represented their masculinity.  Tears filled his eyes as he remembered Conan’s sapidity coating his tongue, but he quickly blinked them away.  He missed his _Daddy_ so damn much but that was his own sordid secret and one he would never divulge, especially to Tom, because to do so would mean a certain end to their relationship.

Opening his eyes, he pushed all thoughts of Conan from his mind and grinned cheekily down at Tom.  “Ready?” he asked and without waiting for an answer, he gently took hold of the base of Tom’s cock and ducking his head, he pressed his lips against the smooth cockhead and kissed it tenderly.  

A gasp of pleasure resonated throughout the room and long fingers tangled in his hair.  “Again,” Tom moaned softly.  “Oh God Dennis, again.”

Smiling in satisfaction, Booker took a different approach and sticking out his tongue, he slowly swept it up the length of the erect shaft before swirling it around the coronal ridge.

“ _Yesss_ ,” Tom hissed excitedly, his body squirming at the exquisite pleasure that tingled his nerve endings.  “Suck me, please suck me.”

Without hesitation, Booker took Tom into his mouth and ran his moist lips up and down the erect shaft whilst moving his hand in synchronized rhythm.  “Oh God,” Tom moaned in delight, the erotic sensation releasing psychoactive chemicals in his brain.  “That feels… so… good.”

As his lover's unique tasting precum coated his tongue, Booker let out a low moan.  The feel of Tom's erection growing in his mouth was intoxicating and his own cock swelled, tenting the material of his boxers.  Without breaking tempo, he reached down and releasing his erection, he began to masturbate.

Tom’s movements became more frenetic and thrusting his hips forward, his fingers tangled in Booker’s hair and he started to pant.  “Oh God oh God oh God…”

Sensing that Tom was close, Booker moved his mouth back up the long shaft and wrapping his lips around the weeping cockhead, he began to hum.

 _“FUUUCK!”_ Tom yelled and his fingers ripped at Booker’s dark hair.  “ _Ahh… ahh… ahh… ahh… ahh…_ oh _God…_ oh _God…_ oh _God…_ Dennis I’m close… I’m _close!”_

Hearing Tom’s erotic moans fueled Booker’s needs and his hand moved faster over his own erection.  Increasing the pressure of his lips around Tom’s cockhead, he sucked hard and seconds later, warm semen flooded his mouth and his lover’s strangled cry of pleasure sounded in his ears.  Swallowing deeply, he delighted in Tom’s saporous juices and with a shudder, he shot forth his orgasm, covering his hand in his own salty fluid.  

Moaning softly, he continued to lap at the softening cock in his mouth until he too was limp and lifting his head, he licked his lips and gazed down into Tom’s sated eyes.  “I guess breakfast is ruined,” he joked softly.

Tom grinned back lazily at his lover.  “Fuck breakfast,” he sighed contentedly and pulling Booker down on top of him, he kissed him tenderly.  “ _That_ was fucking amazing,” he murmured against his lover’s full lips.  “Where did you learn to do that?”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Tom felt Booker’s body stiffen and he immediately realized his mistake.  “Jesus Dennis I’m sorry,” he apologized quickly.  “I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t,” Booker muttered and rolling onto the mattress, he stared up at the ceiling.  “I don’t want your apology, I know it was a slip of the tongue.”

Placing his palm against Booker’s flushed cheek, Tom gently turned his face so he could look into his tortured eyes.  “Yeah it was,” he admitted quietly as he brushed the dark hair from his lover’s face.  “Sometimes I forget everything you’ve been through 'cause you’re coping so damn well.”

“Like you,” Booker replied quietly.

Tom raised a questioning eyebrow.  “What do you mean?  I haven’t—”  But the meaning of the words suddenly became clear and he did not finish his sentence.  He had dealt with his rape a long time ago and when he looked at Booker, he did not see his rapist, he saw the man he loved.  However, it would always be the elephant in the room for both of them and because he did not completely trust his lover, he feared that one day, in a fit of anger, he would spew forth all the rage and pain he kept buried deep inside his soul.

Not wanting to think about the past, he wrapped his arms around Booker and laying his head on his chest, he closed his eyes. “Let’s not talk about what we've been through,” he murmured drowsily.

As Tom drifted off to sleep, Booker continued to stare silently up at the ceiling.  His lover had told him on countless occasions that he had dealt with his rape and moved on.  But deep in his heart, he knew that one day, something would cause Tom's emotional wounds to rip open.  If that day ever happened then they would have no choice but to talk about it, and he feared that would be the beginning of the end.  In his mind, he was sure it would be Tom's rape that would eventually tear them apart and he never stopped to think that his own emotional scars could be what signaled the end of their relationship.

**

_Three weeks later_

Pushing his way through the crowded bar, Doug managed to carry two glasses, a basket of fries and a pitcher of beer without spilling any of the precious amber liquid.  Placing the jug down on the table, he grinned at Tom as he passed him the glasses.  “Fill ‘em up.”

Tom returned the smile and picking up the pitcher, he filled the glasses to the rim.  When Doug sat down, he raised his drink.  “To Friday nights.”

Doug picked up his glass and clinking it forcefully against Tom’s, he spilled a large measure of ale onto the table.  “To Friday nights!” he reiterated enthusiastically.

After downing a third of his glass, Tom sighed contentedly and leaned back in his chair.  “So, how’s things?”

Doug grabbed a handful of fries and crammed them into his mouth.  “Okay,” he mumbled through a mouthful of food.  “Kinda busy but lots of interesting cases and McCann’s fitted in pretty well.”

Tom tried to keep the envy out of his eyes but he knew he was failing miserably.  He missed being a cop and he missed the adrenalin high of working undercover.  Being a private investigator was just not the same.  The jobs were often boring and he hated working alone.  He missed the camaraderie he had experienced at the Chapel and even though it was not Booker’s fault, he sometimes felt resentful that he had given up so much to save the man he loved.

Sensing Tom’s jealousy, Doug made the suggestion both men were silently thinking.  “You could always come back.”

Shaking his head, Tom’s lips twitched into a sad smile and he stared into his beer .  “No I can’t, too many things have changed.”

Unwilling to let the matter drop, Doug’s mouth set in a firm line.  “What you _really_ mean is Booker is more important to you than your own happiness.  Jesus Christ Hanson, you gave up everything for him, why do you continue to put him first?”

Tom’s eyes softened.  “Because I love him Doug,” he replied simply.

Doug let out a huff of frustration.  “Damn it Tommy, you’re holding onto a dream.  Booker’s straight and no matter how much you want it, he’s never going to be your boyfriend.”

Heat burned at Tom’s face, turning his cheeks a soft shade of pink and he quickly ducked his head, but not before Doug noticed his embarrassment.  Staring at his friend’s bowed head, his eyes widened in shock.  “No friggin’ way!” he exclaimed in disbelief.  “You and Booker are a _couple?”_

It was obvious to Tom that any attempt at denial was futile and lifting his head, he ran a shaky hand over his mouth.  “Yeah, I guess we are,” he admitted quietly, terrified of what Penhall’s reaction would be.  “But it only happened a few weeks ago, before that, we were just friends.”

Doug stared back at Tom open mouthed as he tried to gather his thoughts.  The very idea of Tom being with Booker horrified him,  not because they were in a homosexual relationship; he was slowly coming to terms with Tom’s bisexuality; but because he did not think Booker was stable and he was terrified for his friend’s safety.  However, he knew he needed to be careful what he said because Tom was overly defensive where Booker was concerned.  

Taking a deep breath, he managed a weak smile.  “That’s great, I’m happy for you, I really am but… Jesus Tommy, have you really thought about this?  You admitted to me only a few weeks ago that he’s damaged.  Do you think entering into a homosexual relationship is the right thing for a man who has suffered so much at the hands of other men?”

Tom’s dark eyes flashed with anger.  “Do you think I’m taking _advantage_ of him?” he asked frostily.  “What kind of a man do you think I am?  And for the record, I don’t need your fucking permission, I can date whomever I want and it’s none of your damn business!”

Holding his hands out in front of him, Doug tried to diffuse the situation.  “Whoa!  Back up Hanson, I never said you were taking advantage of him.  I’m just looking out for you both, that’s all.”

Tom continued to glare back at Doug but not because he was still angry, but because in his heart, he knew his friend was right.  He had ignored all the alarm bells and jumped into a relationship with Booker not because he loved him but because he lusted after him.  Love waited but lust never did.  It was the cause of many ruined relationships and as much as he hated to admit it, he feared their uncontrollable desire for each other would be what eventually tore them apart.

Staring morosely into his beer, he jumped slightly when a gentle hand rested on his arm.  "Sorry," Doug apologized quietly.  "I didn't mean to upset you."

Not wanting to ruin their Friday night together, Tom picked up his drink and draining the glass in one gulp, he quickly refilled it.  "You didn't," he lied.  "I guess I'm just a little sensitive talking about it." 

Doug nodded in understanding but deep down, he was still apprehensive about Tom being in a relationship with the man who had raped him.  



	28. Love and Lust It's All the Same, It's Just a Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Previously: Doug let out a huff of frustration. “Damn it Tommy, you’re holding onto a dream. Booker’s straight and no matter how much you want it, he’s never going to be your boyfriend.”_
> 
> _Heat burned at Tom’s face, turning his cheeks a soft shade of pink and he quickly ducked his head, but not before Doug noticed his embarrassment. Staring at his friend’s bowed head, his eyes widened in shock. “No friggin’ way!” he exclaimed in disbelief. “You and Booker are a couple?”_
> 
> _It was obvious to Tom that any attempt at denial was futile and lifting his head, he ran a shaky hand over his mouth. “Yeah, I guess we are,” he admitted quietly, terrified of what Penhall’s reaction would be. “But it only happened a few weeks ago, before that, we were just friends.”_
> 
> _Doug stared back at Tom open mouthed as he tried to gather his thoughts. The very idea of Tom being with Booker horrified him, not because they were in a homosexual relationship; he was slowly coming to terms with Tom’s bisexuality; but because he did not think Booker was stable and he was terrified for his friend’s safety. However, he knew he needed to be careful what he said because Tom was overly defensive where Booker was concerned._
> 
> _Taking a deep breath, he managed a weak smile. “That’s great, I’m happy for you, I really am but… Jesus Tommy, have you really thought about this? You admitted to me only a few weeks ago that he’s damaged. Do you think entering into a homosexual relationship is the right thing for a man who has suffered so much at the hands of other men?”_
> 
> _Tom’s dark eyes flashed with anger. “Do you think I’m taking advantage of him?” he asked frostily. “What kind of a man do you think I am? And for the record, I don’t need your fucking permission, I can date whomever I want and it’s none of your damn business!”_
> 
> _Holding his hands out in front of him, Doug tried to diffuse the situation. “Whoa! Back up Hanson, I never said you were taking advantage of him. I’m just looking out for you both, that’s all.”_
> 
> _Tom continued to glare back at Doug but not because he was still angry, but because in his heart, he knew his friend was right. He had ignored all the alarm bells and jumped into a relationship with Booker not because he loved him but because he lusted after him. Love waited but lust never did. It was the cause of many ruined relationships and as much as he hated to admit it, he feared their uncontrollable desire for each other would be what eventually tore them apart._
> 
> _Staring morosely into his beer, he jumped slightly when a gentle hand rested on his arm. "Sorry," Doug apologized quietly. "I didn't mean to upset you."_
> 
> _Not wanting to ruin their Friday night together, Tom picked up his drink and draining the glass in one gulp, he quickly refilled it. "You didn't," he lied. "I guess I'm just a little sensitive talking about it."_
> 
> _Doug nodded in understanding but deep down, he was still apprehensive about Tom being in a relationship with the man who had raped him._

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35590682480/in/album-72157683140201352/)

**Love and Lust It's All the Same, It's Just a Game**

_Four weeks later_

The last four weeks had seen Tom's caseload multiply exponentially and he was working a minimum ten-hour day, six days a week just to keep up.  The increase in work was a relief financially, but it also meant sacrificing his social life.  He rarely saw Booker and he wished he could find the time to do the things other couples did when they were first dating.  The fun part of a new relationship was going to the movies, eating out and getting to know each other's likes and dislikes.  But because of the bizarre way their affair had started and his increased working hours, they had missed some of the important interactions of the honeymoon period.

Their sex life was also beginning to suffer.  After an explosive start when they could barely keep their hands off each other, he now found himself too tired to make much of an effort and over the last few weeks, he had noticed a marked change in Booker’s demeanor.  In the beginning, his lover had patiently waited up until he came home and they would fall into bed together, holding each other close until they fell asleep.  But now he came home to a dark apartment and when he did eventually crawl into bed in the early hours of the morning, Booker seemed oblivious to his presence.  It was disheartening but if he was honest with himself, it was also a relief that the pace of their relationship had slowed, especially after Doug had reinforced his doubts.  Even though they had not taken the physical aspect of their relationship past oral sex, he was worried that they were moving forward too quickly.  However, that did not mean he wanted it to end completely and therefore, he knew he needed to make some changes, otherwise their relationship would be over before it had even begun.

With a groan, he struggled through the door of his apartment, the large carton of case notes he carried in his arms making it difficult for him to maneuver through the doorway.  Kicking the door closed with his foot, he dropped the cardboard box onto the floor with a grunt and shrugging out of his jacket, he tossed it onto a chair.  Looking around the room, he let out a disappointed sigh when he did not see Booker.  He was eager to surprise him in the hopes of getting their relationship back on track.

Glancing at his watch, he smiled when he saw the time.  It was Saturday night, he was home before dark and that meant the night was theirs to enjoy.  “Dennis,” he called out cheerfully and when he received no answer from the bedroom, his brow creased into a frown.  Walking across the room, he paused when he heard the sound of running water and a slow smile played over his lips.  Booker was in the shower and that meant he would be ready for a night on the town.

As he walked into the kitchen, he heard the shower turn off and grabbing a beer from the refrigerator, he popped the cap and took a large refreshing mouthful.  Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he wandered into the living room and switching on the TV, he flopped down onto the couch with a sigh.  He was tired but he was determined to make a night of it.  He had heard about a new Italian restaurant that had opened up not far from the building where he rented his tiny office space and the one thing he knew about Booker was that he loved Italian food.

When the bathroom door opened, Booker stepped out wearing only a towel around his waist, his damp hair combed back from his face, highlighting his chiseled features.  Tom’s breath caught in his throat as he cast covetous eyes over his lover’s toned body and he let out a low moan of approval.  “Fuck you look hot,” he murmured softly.

Ignoring the compliment, Booker stared back with cold eyes.  “You’re home early,” he muttered in a stilted voice.  “I didn’t expect to see you until morning.”

Tom felt a pang of guilt and placing his beer on the coffee table he stood up and slowly approached his lover.  “I know I haven’t been around much lately but—”

Booker turned away and started walking towards the bedroom.  “I don't want your apology,” he interrupted in a petulant voice.  “Everything changed when you went out drinking with Doug.  I guess he finally got to you huh?”

Surprised by Booker’s statement, Tom stepped forward and grabbed his arm.  “Is _that_ what you think?  Jesus Dennis, I know I haven’t been very responsive lately but it’s because I’m tired, not because I don’t want to be with you.”

Pulling away from Tom’s hold, Booker’s dark eyes narrowed into slits.  “Really?” he asked in a skeptical tone.  “You’re twenty-three years old and you’re telling me you’ve lost your libido because you’re _tired?_ ”

Tom could feel his muscles tensing and pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, he screwed his eyes closed for several seconds.  When he opened them again, Booker was still glowering at him and lowering his hand, he let out a sigh.  “Okay,” he confessed, “I admit it, I _do_ want to slow our relationship down.  I want to have a chance to get to know you better before… well, before we take it to the next level.  But that’s not the only reason I haven’t wanted to fool around.  Despite what you think, I _have_ been tired and when you withdrew, I guess I was kind of grateful that I didn’t have to try anymore.”

Booker’s lower lip pushed out in a sulky pout.  “Well at least now you’re being honest about it,” he muttered.  “Why didn’t you tell me this before instead of making me think you’d lost interest?”

A small smile twitched at the corner of Tom’s lips and his eyes traveled hungrily over Booker’s muscular torso.  “Are you fucking kidding?” he breathed and reaching out, he placed an arm around his lover’s waist and pulled him in close.  “I could never lose interest in you, you're the most desirable man I've ever met.”

Booker's pout instantly turned seductive and his dark eyes shone with longing.  "Prove it," he whispered, "make me come."

Tom slowly maneuvered Booker backwards until his back was against the wall and unwrapping the towel from around his waist, he let it fall to the floor.  He hesitated for a moment before brushing his lips over the warm flesh of his lover’s mouth, teasing him with the limited contact.  “Tell me what you want,” he breathed.

A shiver of excitement ran down Booker’s spine.  “Suck me,” he whispered against Tom’s ear.  “I wanna fuck that pretty mouth.”

It was the first time Booker had talked dirty to him and Tom found it both thrilling and somewhat disturbing.  But he pushed all the nagging doubts to the back of his mind.  “Okay, he murmured against the long column of Booker’s throat, “but I’m gonna take my time getting there.”

True to his word, he nipped and sucked at the taut skin, coaxing the blood to the surface until he had left his mark.  He continued downwards, mouthing hot kisses over his lover's chest, stopping occasionally to run his tongue over the moist flesh.  When he reached a nipple, he flicked his tongue against it, toying with the hard nub before slowly continuing his journey.  Dropping to his knees, he felt light fingers running through his hair, urging him on and parting his lips, he began to suck on the tight flesh just above the pubic hairline, wanting to leave a mark his lover could see.

Booker’s eyes fluttered closed and he let out a low groan of pleasure.  It had been weeks since he had experienced the thrill of Tom’s touch and the erotic sensation of a hot mouth sucking at his flesh brought back buried memories.  As the stimulation continued, he could feel his urges returning and his fingers began to tug at his lover's hair.  “ _Yesss_ ,” he encouraged softly, his erect cock pressing against the underside of Tom’s chin.  “Bite me Tommy, make it hurt.”

The warm lips against his skin immediately pulled away, leaving him wanting, and looking down, he saw two wide eyes staring up at him in horror.  “Jesus Christ Dennis,” Tom uttered in an incredulous voice, “did you just ask me to _bite_ you?”

Dennis’ head began to spin and his eyes filled with panic.  “N-No!  I mean… I don’t know why I said that!  Oh God Tommy, I’m sorry, I didn't mean it!”

The color drained from Tom’s face and rising slowly to his feet, he took a step backwards.  “I don’t think I can do this,” he confessed in a shaky voice.  “I won’t become Keppler’s replacement.”

Booker snatched up his towel and quickly covered his nakedness.  “Tommy no!” he implored in a tone filled with agitation.  “I don’t want you to be my _Dad—"_ and as the word tumbled from his lips, his eyes grew wide and his body started to tremble.  “Oh God,” he whispered.  “What the hell is wrong with me?”

Unable to answer the question, Tom picked up his jacket and headed towards the door.  “I need some fresh air,” he muttered and he quickly exited the apartment with the sound of Booker’s voice ringing in his ears.

**

Staring dejectedly into his whiskey, Tom picked distractedly at the soggy cardboard coaster in his hand.  He had been at the bar for hours, the night’s events playing over and over in his mind, despite the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed.  It was now the early hours of the morning and if he wanted to keep drinking, he needed to find an ATM.  He slipped off the bar stool and swaying unsteadily on his feet, he staggered towards the door.  When the cool night air touched his skin, he realized he had left his jacket in the bar.  But instead of retrieving it, he continued to stare blankly out in front of him.  He suddenly felt overwhelmingly tired and all he wanted was to close his bloodshot eyes and forget about everything that had happened.  He reached into the front pocket of his denims and pulled out his car keys, but in a moment of clarity, he recognized that he was too drunk to drive and unless he found an ATM, he had no money for a cab.

With a heavy sigh, he decided that sleeping in his Mustang was his only option and he began to walk down the road when a light hand tapped him on the shoulder.  Turning around, he stared through blurry eyes at the handsome face of a young man who had been sitting at the bar.  “You forgot your jacket,” the man stated with a captivating smile.

Tom grinned back drunkenly.  “Thanks,’ he murmured as he swayed unsteadily on his feet, and taking the jacket from the man’s hand, he struggled to put it on.

“Here, let me help you,” the man offered and without waiting for Tom to reply, he guided his arms into the sleeves and pulled the jacket around him.  

“Thanks,” Tom muttered again and as he gazed into the man’s attractive blue eyes, he smiled entrancingly.  “Do you wanna get a drink?”

The man’s laugh rang out through the cold night air.  “I think you’ve had enough,” he chuckled.  “But I can offer you coffee, my apartment’s just across the street.”

In Tom's inebriated mind, the night had suddenly become a whole lot better and smiling bewitchingly, he peered up through his long lashes.  “Coffee sounds good, my name’s Tom.”

“Liam,” the young man replied and taking Tom by the elbow, he steered him across the road towards his home.

**

Booker hung up the phone and stared down at the suitcase at his feet.  Tears filled his eyes and placing a hand over his face, he stifled a sob.  Over the last few months, since he had moved in with Tom, he had actually convinced himself that he was happy.  But the harsh reality was the exact opposite.  He was floundering in a world he no longer had a connection to and he felt as though he did not belong.  In his mind, he was a freak because even after ten months of therapy, he continued to miss the man who had irrevocably changed his life.  Forever the consummate actor, he had even fooled himself into believing the treatment had magically cured him of his masochistic urges.  He had managed to control them but then, for a fraction of a second when in the throes of passion, he had let his guard down and revealed his despicable secret; he still craved the combination of sex and pain.

Picking up the suitcase, he glanced one last time around the apartment that had been his home for the last three months and walked out the door.  


**I am heading off on holidays (hubby and I are going to see The Rolling Stones in Sydney, and yes, I'm excited!) But that of course means there won't be any updates for a couple of weeks.**

**In peace**

**OpenPage x**


	29. In the Cold Light of Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Previously: Staring dejectedly into his whiskey, Tom picked distractedly at the soggy cardboard coaster in his hand.  He had been at the bar for hours, the night’s events playing over and over in his mind, despite the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed.  It was now the early hours of the morning and if he wanted to keep drinking, he needed to find an ATM.  He slipped off the bar stool and swaying unsteadily on his feet, he staggered towards the door.  When the cool night air touched his skin, he realized he had left his jacket in the bar.  But instead of retrieving it, he continued to stare blankly out in front of him.  He suddenly felt overwhelmingly tired and all he wanted was to close his bloodshot eyes and forget about everything that had happened.  He reached into the front pocket of his denims and pulled out his car keys, but in a moment of clarity, he recognized that he was too drunk to drive and unless he found an ATM, he had no money for a cab._
> 
> _With a heavy sigh, he decided that sleeping in his Mustang was his only option and he began to walk down the road when a light hand tapped him on the shoulder.  Turning around, he stared through blurry eyes at the handsome face of a young man who had been sitting at the bar.  “You forgot your jacket,” the man stated with a captivating smile._
> 
> _Tom grinned back drunkenly.  “Thanks,’ he murmured as he swayed unsteadily on his feet, and taking the jacket from the man’s hand, he struggled to put it on._
> 
> _“Here, let me help you,” the man offered and without waiting for Tom to reply, he guided his arms into the sleeves and pulled the jacket around him._
> 
> _“Thanks,” Tom muttered again and as he gazed into the man’s attractive blue eyes, he smiled entrancingly.  “Do you wanna get a drink?”_
> 
> _The man’s laugh rang out through the cold night air.  “I think you’ve had enough,” he chuckled.  “But I can offer you coffee, my apartment’s just across the street.”_
> 
> _In Tom's inebriated mind, the night had suddenly become a whole lot better and smiling bewitchingly, he peered up through his long lashes.  “Coffee sounds good, my name’s Tom.”_
> 
> _“Liam,” the young man replied and taking Tom by the elbow, he steered him across the road towards his home._
> 
> _**_
> 
> _Booker hung up the phone and stared down at the suitcase at his feet.  Tears filled his eyes and placing a hand over his face, he stifled a sob.  Over the last few months, since he had moved in with Tom, he had actually convinced himself that he was happy.  But the harsh reality was the exact opposite.  He was floundering in a world he no longer had a connection to and he felt as though he did not belong.  In his mind, he was a freak because even after ten months of therapy, he continued to miss the man who had irrevocably changed his life.  Forever the consummate actor, he had even fooled himself into believing the treatment had magically cured him of his masochistic urges.  He had managed to control them but then, for a fraction of a second when in the throes of passion, he had let his guard down and revealed his despicable secret; he still craved the combination of sex and pain._
> 
> _Picking up the suitcase, he glanced one last time around the apartment that had been his home for the last three months and walked out the door._

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35590682400/in/album-72157683140201352/)

**In the Cold Light of Day**

_The following morning_

The smell of bacon and eggs infiltrated Tom’s dream and as he slowly came back to consciousness, he had a fleeting sensation of déjà vu.  Opening his eyes, he gazed in confusion at the unfamiliar décor of a tastefully decorated bedroom and he felt a moment of panic.  

Sitting up with a jolt, the room spun around him and holding his head in his hands, he let out a low moan.  The sour after taste of whiskey lingered in his mouth and a dull pain thumped behind his eyes, signaling the beginnings of a hangover.   A light breeze blew in through the open window, ruffling the curtains, and when the cool air touched his bare skin, goose bumps rose on his arms.  Slowly pulling back the covers, he stared down at his naked body and time stood still as the memory of the previous night returned.  His heart began to hammer in his chest and hot bile rose in his throat.  

He had done the unthinkable; he had cheated on his lover.

The bedroom door opened and the man from the bar walked in, dressed in a blue robe that matched his eyes.  Struggling with his impaired memory, Tom tried desperately to remember the man’s name but he came up blank.  Quickly covering his nakedness, he managed a weak smile.  “Hey…” 

The man placed a mug of black coffee on the bedside bureau and seeing Tom’s agonized expression, he grinned back.  “Hey yourself, and the name’s Liam.”

Tom’s cheeks reddened in embarrassment.  “Sorry,” he muttered, “everything’s a bit of a blur.”

Liam sat down on the edge of the bed, his cobalt eyes twinkling cheekily.  “That’s a pity, ‘cause last night was pretty amazing.”

Lowering his head, Tom’s blush deepened.  “Shit,” he moaned, “does that mean… oh God, please tell me we didn't!”

Liam’s lower lip pushed out into a faux pout.  “Now you’ve hurt my feelings,” he teased.  “You seemed pretty enthusiastic last night when I made love to you… twice.”

Tom’s eyes grew wide and he ran a shaky hand across his mouth.  “Twice?” he echoed in disbelief.  “And I _bottomed?_ ”

At Tom’s mortified expression, an amused chuckle escaped Liam’s lips.  “I had to talk you into it but you didn’t seem too bothered once we got started.”

“Oh God,” Tom groaned, his face a mask of mortification.  “Were we safe?”

“We were,” Liam replied in a reassuring tone.  “But I’ve gotta tell you Tommy, I didn’t expect you to react like this, after all, it _was_ consensual.”

A pained expression passed over Tom’s face.  “It’s not you,” he muttered miserably, “it’s me.  I've got a boyfriend.”

Liam’s eyebrows rose in surprise.  “Oh, I see,” he replied tersely.

A long silence hung awkwardly between the two men before Tom finally mumbled, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Seeing the genuine remorse on Tom’s face, Liam managed a smile.  “Don’t apologize,” he assuaged good-naturedly.  “I guess I’m just a little disappointed.  I had hoped this might be the beginning of something.”

When Tom remained silent, Liam decided to be direct.  “Do you love him?” he asked.

Tom’s expression softened.  “Yeah, I really do.”

Tilting his head on one side, Liam gave Tom a quizzical look.  “Then answer me this, if you love him so much, why did you come home with me?”

Pain filled Tom’s dark eyes.  “I don’t know,” he whispered in a tortured voice.  “I honestly… don’t… know.”

**

Having declined Liam’s offer of breakfast, Tom walked outside and squinting his eyes against the harsh sunlight, he gazed up and down the street in confusion.  His head thumped painfully from the hangover that was engulfing his body and closing his eyes, he rubbed at his temple as he tried to remember where he had parked.  Slowly, the memory of walking from one bar to another filtered into his mind and opening his eyes, he staggered slowly up the road.  When he reached the intersection, he turned left and a small sigh of relief escaped his lips when he saw his car parked in the distance.  He quickened his pace up the deserted street and when he reached his Mustang, he unlocked the door and climbed inside.  Slamming the door closed, he inserted the key in the ignition but his hand paused and slumping back against the seat, he covered his face with his hands and let out a loud groan.  He had cheated and no matter how much he regretted it, he could not pretend it had never happened.  He needed to own up to it, otherwise he knew the whole foundation of his relationship with Dennis would forever be based upon a lie.

Leaning forward, he started the car and pulling slowly from the sidewalk, he drove in the direction of his apartment.

**

Penhall whistled a jaunty tune as he plated up a large breakfast of bacon and eggs.  It was Sunday morning and he planned to enjoy his fry up then lie on the couch and catch up on all the sport he had recorded on his new VCR.  

Placing the heaped plate down on the small dining table, he pulled out a chair and started to sit down when a loud banging sounded at his door.  A scowl of annoyance marred his normally cheerful expression and sighing heavily, he strode over to the front door and yanked it open.  “Wha—” he started to growl but the angry word stuck in his throat when he saw Tom standing in front of him wearing an expression of pure misery.  “Shit Hanson, is everything okay?” he asked in a worried voice as he ushered his friend inside.

Tom’s eyes filled with tears.  “He left me.”

It took Doug a moment to comprehend what Tom meant.  “Booker?” he asked quietly.  When he received a dejected nod in return, he placed a comforting arm around his friend’s shoulders.  “Jesus Tommy, I’m really sorry.  I know how much you love him.  What happened?”

Tom struggled to keep his tears at bay.  “We had a fight,” he muttered wretchedly, “I stormed out and…”  His words trailed off and he stared at the floor.  “When I got home, he’d gone.”

With all thoughts of his breakfast now forgotten, Doug maneuvered Tom towards the couch and after motioning for him to sit down, he perched on the coffee table and stared at him intensely.  “Did he take his stuff?”

A small nod of Tom’s bowed head answered his question and he let out a sigh.  “Okay, well, I guess between the two of us we could run some checks, see if we can find where he is.”

Tom lifted his head and stared at Penhall in surprise.  “You’d do that?” he asked quietly.

Doug’s lip tilted into a lopsided smile.  “I’m your best friend aren’t I?  Of course I’ll do it.  I know how much he means to you and—”  When a single tear slid down Tom’s pale cheek, he stared back in confusion.  “What’s wrong?  I thought you’d be happy that I’m helping you.”

“Oh God Doug, I did something really stupid,” Tom muttered, his dark eyes filling with torment at the memory of his indiscretion.  “I can’t believe I was so heartless.”

In an attempt to lighten the mood, Doug let out a small chuckle.  “C’mon Hanson, it can’t be that bad.  You’re the most conscientious person I know.”

Tom turned his tortured eyes towards Doug.  “I cheated on him,” he whispered.  “After our fight, I went out drinking and when I woke up this morning I was in some guy’s bed and… Jesus Christ Doug, I don’t even remember it but _he_ says he made love to me twice and—”

Doug jumped to his feet and held both hands out in front of him.  “W-Whoa!” he stammered in a shaky voice.  “I don’t need to hear the details Tom!”

The despair on Tom’s face quickly turned to annoyance.  “Why not?” he asked moodily.  “Whenever I slept with a woman you _always_ wanted to know all the details.”

Penhall had the grace to blush and pushing back his hair, he let out a heavy sigh.  “You’re right, I did.  I’m sorry Tom, I support you but that doesn’t mean I want a blow by— I mean, oh God, what I mean is, I don’t need to hear every detail about what you do with another guy when you—”

Holding up his hands, Tom grimaced in embarrassment.  “Okay, I get it, just stop talking,” he begged.

An awkward silence hung in the air between the two men before Doug finally spoke.  “When you find Booker, are you going to tell him?”

Leaning back against the couch cushions, Tom crossed his arms over his eyes.  “I have to,” he muttered.  “If we have any chance of getting back together, I have to be honest with him.”  

“Do you think you _will_ get back together?” Doug asked softly.

Several minutes passed before Tom lowered his arms and stared up at Penhall with sad eyes.  “It’s all so fucked up Doug.  Dennis and I were fooling around and he asked me to bite him.  I freaked out and that’s when I left.”

Although shocked by Tom’s revelation, Doug was careful to keep his expression neutral.  “Maybe it would be better if you spent some time apart.  It sounds like he’s still pretty messed up.”

“Yeah,” Tom sighed dejectedly, “I think we both are.”

Doug tried to offer a small smile of understanding but deep down, he had trouble comprehending how his friend’s life had become so complicated.

**

Dennis flinched as the steel gate of St. Mary’s psychiatric wing clanged closed behind him.  With his head bowed, he hugged his bag protectively to his chest and followed the aloof orderly.  After negotiating through the maze of corridors, the man stopped and motioned to a row of plastic chairs that lined the wall.  “Take a seat, the doctor will see you shortly.”

He sat stiffly in one of the uncomfortable chairs and tried to block out the distressing sounds that echoed throughout the hospital.  He had just voluntarily signed himself back into the psychiatric unit for four weeks and although he knew he was making the right decision, his stomach had knotted itself into a tight, nervous ball and he could not control the tremors that plagued his body.  He had only managed three months on the outside and during that time, he had struggled with the urges that persistently threatened to consume his mind.  However, his downfall had been when he and Tom had started their sexual relationship just a month after his release.  The feel of a hot mouth against his skin had brought all his depraved yearnings to the surface and it was then he had started to lose control of his inhibitions.  Each day it had become harder to keep his desires concealed and every lick and suck had him craving the pain that he knew would heighten his sexual pleasure, until finally, without warning, he had vocalized his wants and Tom had fled in disgust.

Staring down at his jagged fingernails, he fought back the tears that had threatened to spill from his tortured eyes ever since Tom had walked out of the apartment the night before.  He had spent a lonely evening alone, waiting for the sound of footsteps to signal his lover’s return.  But when the hours ticked by and the sound never came, he began to think that he had probably lost Tom forever.  It was then he knew that staying would only cause the man he loved insurmountable heartache and so he had packed a suitcase and phoned the hospital, requesting urgent admission into the psych ward.  Fortunately, Doctor Mayberry had been on duty and he had immediately agreed to admit him the following morning.  He had spent a lonely night lying on the bed staring up at the ceiling, still clinging onto the small hope that Tom would return and they would be able to talk through their problems.  

But when dawn broke and the early morning sunlight filtered in through the bedroom window, he knew that there was no hope left.  By staying out all night, Tom had made his intentions perfectly clear; he no longer wanted him in his life.

The sound of a door opening pulled him back to the present and looking up, he saw Doctor Mayberry’s sympathetic face staring down at him.  The tears that had been threatening to fall finally spilled over and covering his face in his hands, his shoulders shook as he allowed himself to weep openly.  When a gentle hand stroked his hair, he lifted his head and staring up at Mayberry with beseeching eyes, he grabbed frantically at his sleeve.  “Please help me,” he implored desperately.

Doctor Mayberry’s kind eyes crinkled at the corners and he smiled reassuringly.  “Don’t worry Dennis,” he murmured softly, “the hardest step was realizing that you still need help.  We’ll work together and I have complete faith that you will overcome your predisposition towards masochism.”

Encouraged by the doctor’s confident tone, Booker swiped an arm across his teary eyes and managed a watery smile.  He knew it would be difficult, but he needed to push all thoughts of Tom from his mind and concentrate on getting well.

 


	30. One Step Closer Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Previously: Dennis flinched as the steel gate of St. Mary’s psychiatric wing clanged closed behind him. With his head bowed, he hugged his bag protectively to his chest and followed the aloof orderly. After negotiating through the maze of corridors, the man stopped and motioned to a row of plastic chairs that lined the wall. “Take a seat, the doctor will see you shortly.”_
> 
> _He sat stiffly in one of the uncomfortable chairs and tried to block out the distressing sounds that echoed throughout the hospital. He had just voluntarily signed himself back into the psychiatric unit for four weeks and although he knew he was making the right decision, his stomach had knotted itself into a tight, nervous ball and he could not control the tremors that plagued his body. He had only managed three months on the outside and during that time, he had struggled with the urges that persistently threatened to consume his mind. However, his downfall had been when he and Tom had started their sexual relationship just a month after his release. The feel of a hot mouth against his skin had brought all his depraved yearnings to the surface and it was then he had started to lose control of his inhibitions. Each day it had become harder to keep his desires concealed and every lick and suck had him craving the pain that he knew would heighten his sexual pleasure, until finally, without warning, he had vocalized his wants and Tom had fled in disgust._
> 
> _Staring down at his jagged fingernails, he fought back the tears that had threatened to spill from his tortured eyes ever since Tom had walked out of the apartment the night before. He had spent a lonely evening alone, waiting for the sound of footsteps to signal his lover’s return. But when the hours ticked by and the sound never came, he began to think that he had probably lost Tom forever. It was then he knew that staying would only cause the man he loved insurmountable heartache and so he had packed a suitcase and phoned the hospital, requesting urgent admission into the psych ward. Fortunately, Doctor Mayberry had been on duty and he had immediately agreed to admit him the following morning. He had spent a lonely night lying on the bed staring up at the ceiling, still clinging onto the small hope that Tom would return and they would be able to talk through their problems._
> 
> _But when dawn broke and the early morning sunlight filtered in through the bedroom window, he knew that there was no hope left. By staying out all night, Tom had made his intentions perfectly clear; he no longer wanted him in his life._
> 
> _The sound of a door opening pulled him back to the present and looking up, he saw Doctor Mayberry’s sympathetic face staring down at him. The tears that had been threatening to fall finally spilled over and covering his face in his hands, his shoulders shook as he allowed himself to weep openly. When a gentle hand stroked his hair, he lifted his head and staring up at Mayberry with beseeching eyes, he grabbed frantically at his sleeve. “Please help me,” he implored desperately._
> 
> _Doctor Mayberry’s kind eyes crinkled at the corners and he smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry Dennis,” he murmured softly, “the hardest step was realizing that you still need help. We’ll work together and I have complete faith that you will overcome your predisposition towards masochism.”_
> 
> _Encouraged by the doctor’s confident tone, Booker swiped an arm across his teary eyes and managed a watery smile. He knew it would be difficult, but he needed to push all thoughts of Tom from his mind and concentrate on getting well._

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35979741115/in/album-72157683140201352/)

**One Step Closer Away**

_Twelve weeks later_

In the months since Booker had walked out on him, Tom had done a lot of soul searching.  His extreme guilt over what had taken place with Liam had initially prevented him from searching for his friend, but as the days slowly passed, he knew he had to put aside his cowardice and face up to what he had done.  It only took a couple of phone calls to get the information he needed and he had immediately placed a call to the hospital, but he had received a cool reception from Mayberry.  The doctor had given him a clear directive; keep away from Booker or risk sending him spiraling towards a complete breakdown.  It had been a shock to him to realize that he had played a part in Booker’s relapse; he had always had the romantic belief that love conquered all.  But after speaking to Mayberry, he came to the uncomfortable conclusion that his love for Booker had in fact awoken the unhealthy desires within his lover.  Instead of giving Booker time to heal, he had initiated a sexual relationship with a man recently released from psychiatric care.  Now that Mayberry had spelled it out to him in clear, concise terms, he realized how selfish and reckless he had been.  Booker still had many inner demons that he had to face and what he really needed was a friend by his side, not a lover.

It had been a harsh truth to accept but now that his head was clear, Tom was determined not to get in touch with Booker.  If Dennis needed his friendship, he would leave it up to him to make first contact.  Therefore, he pushed aside the past and concentrated on the present by immersing himself in his work and spending quality time with family and friends.  

But at night, when he lay alone in his bed, memories of Dennis' beautiful face haunted his dreams.

**

Standing at the small hand basin in his spartan room, Booker tenderly fingered his split and swollen lip.  Since moving into the group home two months before, he had fought against constant sexual advances from the men that lived there.  The house was a cesspool of deviants and predators but it was the best accommodation his social worker could find at short notice and therefore, he had no choice but to make the most of it.  He was penniless, bereft of family and friends and if he left, his only option would be to live on the streets.

As he stared at the reddish contusion that adorned his chin, he thought back to the previous night’s events.  Two men had broken into his room and tried to persuade him to have sex by offering to make it hurt.  His predisposition to rough sex was no secret amongst the house’s occupants and many saw him as an easy target.  But he had come a long way since readmitting himself back into St. Mary’s and he refused to submit to those who sought to dominate him.  His body was a mass of bruises but his self-respect was intact.  No longer would he allow men to control him, especially those who perceived him as weak.  He was a fighter… he was Dennis Booker and he would be damned if he would allow another man to take advantage of him.

With a determined look, he tied a red bandanna around his head and studied his reflection in the mottled mirror.  He was finally ready to face Tom and give him the explanation he deserved.

**

Standing on the sidewalk, Booker stared up at Tom’s apartment building.  Now that he was actually there, he felt nervous and unsure about seeing the man who occupied his thoughts day and night.  Mayberry had warned him against making contact, citing many reasons why he viewed the relationship to be unhealthy.  But Booker needed closure.  Tom was the only person who had been prepared to put his own life on hold to help him and he owed his friend his life.  His own family had turned their backs on him, as had his colleagues, but not Tom.  Tom had spent time and money searching for him when he was missing and he had stood by his side throughout his confinements.  But it was more than that.  Tom was his first real homosexual lover.  When he had re-entered St. Mary’s psych unit for the second time, he had done so with a much clearer head than previously.  After completing extensive therapy (four weeks as an inpatient and now as an outpatient attending group sessions), he clearly understood that Conan had not been his lover.  Maurice Keppler had in fact been nothing more than a cruel manipulator who had plied him with drugs and played on his vulnerabilities to gain his trust.  It had been a hard realization because it exposed both his weaknesses and insecurities and although it was difficult for him to accept that a psychopath had controlled him so easily, once he did acknowledge it, he had a breakthrough in his therapy and he no longer felt the desire to couple sexual pleasure with pain.  Not that he had experienced any sexual pleasure except by his own hand, but he felt confident that his masochistic urges were a thing of the past.  

However, there was still one matter that he knew he needed to lay to rest.  Mayberry had been surprised when he had brought the subject up but after explaining his reasoning, the doctor had agreed it would help with his healing.  But he was not in a position to be able to do it on his own and he hoped that once he had apologized to Tom for walking out, he could ask his friend for help.  

Casting his eye towards the window of Tom’s apartment, he knew he could not remain standing on the pavement forever and taking a deep breath, he crossed the street and walked into the building.  As he climbed the stairs to the second floor, he tried to block out the annoying voice inside his head that screamed at him to stop making excuses and face up to why he was really there.  It was the voice of truth that had echoed constantly within his mind during his internment at St. Mary's, the one thing he had clung to as he focused on his recovery and no matter how he tried to justify it to himself, there was only one reason for his return… he wanted to rekindle his love affair with Tom.

**

As he stood outside of Tom’s apartment, Dennis felt a growing tenseness in his body and taking a deep breath, he tried to settle his nerves.  Although he was concerned about the reception he would receive, he knew he had to at least try and explain to Tom why he had left without leaving so much as a note. 

After taking another deep, calming breath, he raised his hand but before he even had a chance to knock, the door opened unexpectedly and standing before him was the man he loved.  

Tom’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and he stared back at Booker open-mouthed.  “Dennis,” he whispered, his soft brown eyes filling with emotion.  “Jesus, I never thought… God, it’s _so_ good to see you.”

Booker’s dark eyes mirrored Tom’s look of affection and his lips parted into a smile.  “You too Hanson.”

Stepping back from the door, Tom ran a trembling hand across his mouth.  “Do you want to come in?”

“Thanks,” Booker replied and walking into the familiar apartment, he felt himself beginning to relax.  Tom had not turned him away and that was a good start.  But as he began to speak, he was startled when a gentle hand caressed his bruised chin and embarrassed by the tender touch, he stayed silent and lowered his gaze to the floor.

“Who hurt you?” Tom demanded through clenched teeth.

Not wanting to explain his dire living conditions, Booker shrugged his shoulders in the hope that he would appear nonchalant.  “Just some guy.  I’m okay.”  However, his attempt at casualness failed and he could feel Tom’s gaze boring into him.  His face flushed a deep red at the scrutiny and shuffling his feet uncomfortably, he continued to avoid Tom's gaze.

Sensing that Booker was not telling him the whole truth, Tom gently pushed for an answer.  “Talk to me.”

Booker was fully prepared to lie his way out of any further interrogation, but when he lifted his head and saw the look of genuine concern on Tom’s face, his façade crumbled.  “They try and force me into having rough sex,” he muttered.  “But I fight them off ‘cause… well… I don’t do that anymore.”

When he heard Booker’s explanation, Tom struggled to keep control of his temper.  “Who tries to force you?” he asked in a strained voice.

Turning away, Booker’s lower lip pushed into a soft pout.  “I didn’t come here to talk about that.  I’m fine, I can take care of myself.”

Not wanting to upset his friend any further, Tom decided to let the matter drop, at least for the moment.  “Okay, if you say so.”  

An awkward silence hung in the air and desperate to ease the tension, he motioned towards the couch.  “Take a seat, I’ll make some coffee and then we can talk.”

Booker’s shoulders relaxed and nodding his head, he managed a small smile.  “Okay.  Thanks.”  

As Tom busied himself in the kitchen, he took a seat and cast his eye around what used to be his home.  He had been gone nearly three months but very little had changed and he realized that whilst he had been away, life had continued on as normal for everyone else.  Suddenly, a strange feeling of dissociation washed over him and it almost felt as though he had never been a part of Tom’s life.  As the feeling intensified, sweat prickled under his armpits and he began to panic as the slow realization dawned on him; he was a stranger and he no longer belonged.  
   
Tears filled his eyes and standing up, he stumbled blindly across the room towards the door.  But before he could make his escape, he collided with Tom and hot coffee doused the front of his t-shirt, burning his chest.  Staggering backwards, he knocked over a lamp and sent it crashing to the floor.  

Scalding coffee splashed over Tom’s hands and crying out in pain, he let go of the two mugs and they smashed on impact, sending a spray of brown liquid over the floorboards.  “FUCK!” he exclaimed loudly.

As the burning pain slowly subsided, he shook his hands out in front of him and glared angrily at Booker’s bowed head.  “Why the hell did you charge into me like that?”

Lifting his gaze, Booker stared back with tortured eyes.  “I made a mistake," he whispered, "I shouldn’t have come back.”

Tom’s expression softened and stepping over the mess on the floor, he took hold of Booker’s hands.  “Why do you say that?” he asked gently.

The sensation of Tom’s touch sent a jolt of excitement through Booker’s body and he quickly pulled his hands away and shoved them in the pockets of his jeans.  “Because you deserve better,” he mumbled.

Stubbornly taking hold of his friend’s arm, Tom steered him towards the couch and made him sit down.  Perching on the coffee table, he leaned forward and once again taking hold of Booker's hands, he asked the question that was foremost on his mind.  “Why _did_ you come back?”

Booker let out a soft sigh.  “I wanted to apologize to you for walking out…”  

He paused for a moment and chewed anxiously on his lower lip before continuing.  “… and I wanted to explain why I did it.”

Tom’s expression showed surprise.  “I _know_ why you did it.  You did it for the same reason _I_ walked out on you that night.  What you said shocked us both and I think it was then that we realized that you still had a lot of healing to do and being in a sexual relationship was only making everything worse.”

“What you really mean is you saw the real me and you flipped out,” Booker muttered despondently.  “Admit it, what I said repulsed you.”

As he studied Booker’s face, Tom decided that honesty was the best policy.  “Yes it did,” he replied quietly.  “I was upset and I admit it, I reacted badly.”

At Tom’s admission, Booker exhaled heavily.  “I don’t blame you Tom, you were justified to feel the way you did.  But things have changed since then.  I know you’ve spoken to Doctor Mayberry and I know he thinks we shouldn’t be together but my feelings for you are so strong that I _had_ to make contact and—”

Tom’s face paled and he held a hand up in front of him, stopping his friend mid sentence.  “Please don’t say anymore,” he begged in a tortured voice.

Booker raised his eyebrows.  “Why not?  I’m just trying to be honest with you.”

Unable to meet Booker’s quizzical look, Tom lowered his eyes to the floor.  “I know,” he muttered sadly.  “But before you tell me how you feel, there’s something I need to tell _you_.”

“About what?” Booker asked slowly.

Tom’s eyes filled with pain.  “About what happened after I walked out that night.”

"Happened?" Booker echoed in puzzlement. "I don't understand, what happened?"

"I..." Tom uttered in a barely audible voice and closing his eyes, he clenched his fists as he struggled with his inner turmoil.  

Booker laughed nervously.  "Okay, suspense sufficiently built, you're starting to freak me out."

Opening his eyes, Tom stared at Booker's expectant face, and so began one of the most difficult confessions of his life.

 


	31. Shifting Sands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Previously: Stubbornly taking hold of his friend’s arm, Tom steered him towards the couch and made him sit down. Perching on the coffee table, he leaned forward and once again taking hold of Booker's hands, he asked the question that was foremost on his mind. “Why did you come back?”_
> 
> _Booker let out a soft sigh. “I wanted to apologize to you for walking out…”_
> 
> _He paused for a moment and chewed anxiously on his lower lip before continuing. “… and I wanted to explain why I did it.”_
> 
> _Tom’s expression showed surprise. “I know why you did it. You did it for the same reason I walked out on you that night. What you said shocked us both and I think it was then that we realized that you still had a lot of healing to do and being in a sexual relationship was only making everything worse.”_
> 
> _“What you really mean is you saw the real me and you flipped out,” Booker muttered despondently. “Admit it, what I said repulsed you.”_
> 
> _As he studied Booker’s face, Tom decided that honesty was the best policy. “Yes it did,” he replied quietly. “I was upset and I admit it, I reacted badly.”_
> 
> _At Tom’s admission, Booker exhaled heavily. “I don’t blame you Tom, you were justified to feel the way you did. But things have changed since then. I know you’ve spoken to Doctor Mayberry and I know he thinks we shouldn’t be together but my feelings for you are so strong that I had to make contact and—”_
> 
> _Tom’s face paled and he held a hand up in front of him, stopping his friend mid sentence. “Please don’t say anymore,” he begged in a tortured voice._
> 
> _Booker raised his eyebrows. “Why not? I’m just trying to be honest with you.”_
> 
> _Unable to meet Booker’s quizzical look, Tom lowered his eyes to the floor. “I know,” he muttered sadly. “But before you tell me how you feel, there’s something I need to tell you.”_
> 
> _“About what?” Booker asked slowly._
> 
> _Tom’s eyes filled with pain. “About what happened after I walked out that night.”_
> 
> _"Happened?" Booker echoed in puzzlement. "I don't understand, what happened?"_
> 
> _"I..." Tom uttered in a barely audible voice and closing his eyes, he clenched his fists as he struggled with his inner turmoil._
> 
> _Booker laughed nervously. "Okay, suspense sufficiently built, you're starting to freak me out."_
> 
> _Opening his eyes, Tom stared at Booker's expectant face, and so began one of the most difficult confessions of his life._

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35590682220/in/album-72157683140201352/)

**Shifting Sands**  

Booker's mouth gaped open and he stared back at Tom in disbelief.  "You _fucked_ another man?"

Tom's face reddened.  "Actually, he fuc—"

Jumping to his feet, Booker balled his hands into tight fists.  “I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT!” he yelled into Tom’s face.  “I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU DID THIS TO ME!”

“I know,” Tom muttered miserably, “I can't believe it either but it happened and all I can say is I'm sorry.”

“SORRY?  YOU'RE _SORRY?_ ” Booker screamed hysterically and throwing his hands in the air, he began to pace back and forth in front of the couch.  “Well hey, I guess that makes everything okay then doesn’t it!  _FUCK!_ ”

Feeling the need to stand up for himself, Tom scowled and getting to his feet, he glared at his ex-lover.  "And how is sarcasm helping?" he spat back.  “I said I was sorry, what more do you want?  And in case you've forgotten, _you_ raped me and yet somehow, I found it in my heart to forgive you, so why the hell can't you forgive me now?”

Unable to believe what Tom had just said, Booker completely lost his temper.  "You sonofabitch!  If you forgave me then why the hell are you bringing it up?  And what do I _want?_   Are you fucking _serious?_   We spent months together and the most we did is suck each other off.  If I'd known getting you drunk would have got me some action I'd have plied you with alcohol weeks ago!”

With lightning speed, a fist smashed into his face, sending him staggering backwards.  Slamming against the wall, he dislodged several pictures, sending them crashing to the floor.   With a roar, he charged forward and throwing his full weight on top of Tom, they crashed through the coffee table, breaking it in half.  Both men hit the floor with a thud and they immediately rained vicious punches on each other’s bodies but eventually, Dennis got the upper hand and straddling Tom’s legs, he pinned his arms above his head.

“LET ME GO!  LET ME GO!” Tom screamed angrily as he struggled to break free.

Booker’s eyes flashed manically and he grinned down at Tom through bloody teeth.  “Why?  Are you worried I'll _rape_ you again?”

Tom immediately stopped fighting, but his eyes remained filled with hatred.  “That's not what I meant and you know it, now get off me,” he commanded in a low, menacing voice.

Booker slowly staggered to his feet, his chest heaving heavily.  “Don’t try anything,” he warned as he warily watched Tom clamber from the debris.

Tom wiped a shaky hand across his bloody lip.  “Fuck you,” he spat and turning away, he walked unsteadily towards the door and yanked it open.  “You need to leave.”

Striding across the room, Booker shoved past Tom but before he exited the apartment, he turned around and glared at the man who just months before, had stolen his heart.  “I _loved_ you,” he growled in a resentful tone, “and you destroyed _everything_ because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants.”

Not willing to let Booker have the last word, Tom grabbed hold of his arm but he immediately let go when he saw the threatening look in his eyes.  “Okay, I admit it, I _fucked_ up,” he retorted, “but don’t lay this all on me.  Our relationship was already in trouble because you weren’t being honest.  You still had those urges and you pretended you were fine.”

“I THOUGHT I _WAS!_ ” Booker screamed back furiously, spittle flying from his lips from the forcefulness of his words.  “I thought I could control it!  You have no idea what it’s like to have constant thoughts inside your head… sick thoughts that taunt you _every… single… day!_   But don’t pretend that you care about my mental health; you're just as twisted as I am!  You couldn’t _wait_ to get me into your bed, even after what I did to you and as soon as you had the chance you seduced—”

“ _WHAT?_ ” Tom cried out incredulously.  “I didn’t seduce you!  You wanted it as much as I did and you practically _threw_ yourself at me!  And wanting to be with you doesn't make me twisted, it just proves I've forgiven you!  The problem is, you haven't forgiven yourself!"

“Maybe I haven't and maybe I pushed all the doubts aside because I wanted you so badly,” Booker conceded moodily, “but I thought you knew what you were getting yourself into.  I didn’t know the first time I relapsed you’d go looking for comfort by letting some guy shove his cock up your ass.”

Tom cringed at the crudity of the statement but deep down, he could not fault Booker’s reasoning.  He _had_ sought comfort from someone he had no attachment to and at the time, it had felt amazing.  But in the cold light of day, a feeling of emptiness and a deep seated guilt that he had cheated so readily on the man he thought was his soul mate was all that was left, and he realized it had all been for nothing.  He had destroyed his relationship for a few hours of pleasure and he only had himself to blame.

Lowering his gaze, he shifted uncomfortably.  “You’re right,” he capitulated with a regretful sigh.  “I let you down and I’m sorry.”

Booker swiped the back of his hand across his bloody nose.  “Was it worth it?” he asked moodily.

Tom shook his head.  “No, and I’ve regretted it ever since.”

Narrowing his eyes, Booker glared back distrustfully.  “Are you still seeing him?”

Once again, Tom shook his head.  “I don’t want to see him, he means nothing to me.”

Booker’s lower lip started to quiver.  “Then why?” he whispered.  “Why did you let _him_ make love to you when you didn’t want to make love to _me?_ ”

A single tear trickled down Tom’s cheek.  “Oh God Dennis, I _did_ want to make love to you, I wanted it more than anything in the world, but I was scared.”

“Scared of what?” Booker pressed stubbornly.  “Scared of _me?_ ”

“No,” Tom replied quietly.  “I was scared of _me_.  Scared that I’d be the one to make you relapse and it looks like I was right.”

Booker considered Tom’s statement for a long moment before replying, “ _You_ didn’t make me relapse.  I wasn’t fully healed to begin with.  It would have happened eventually, whether I was with you or not.”

“Maybe,” Tom murmured.  “But I don’t think I helped.”

Unable to refute Tom’s statement, Booker remained silent.  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a scrap of paper and a pen and scribbled down a phone number.  After placing it on the bookcase by the door, he gave Tom a sad smile.  “That’s my number.  If you want to see me again, give me a call,” and without waiting for a reply, he walked out the open door.

**

 _Three days later_  

Screeching to a halt outside the Chapel, Penhall clambered out of his car and slammed the door closed.  Turning around, he jumped when he saw Dennis standing a few feet away from him.  “Jesus Booker, don’t sneak up on people like that!”

A hint of a smile graced Booker’s lips before vanishing as quickly as it had emerged.  “Sorry,” he replied in a flat voice.  “I wanted to talk to you before you went inside.”

Penhall narrowed his eyes suspiciously.  “About what?  ‘Cause if this has anything to do with you and Tom I’d rather not get involved.”

Booker’s smile returned but his eyes remained cold.  “Why?  Because you don’t want to talk about your precious Tommy being in a _homo_ sexual relationship or because you don’t want to talk to me?”

“Are you _trying_ to piss me off?” Penhall retorted angrily.  “Because if you are, you’re doing a fucking good job.”

Booker’s expression remained taunting for several seconds longer before his shoulders sagged.  “Sorry, I haven’t been sleeping well and I guess I’m a little uptight.”

It was on the tip of Penhall’s tongue to reply, _“Only a little?”_ but he let the comment pass and instead he let out a sigh and asked, “What can I do for you Booker?”

A look of relief passed over Dennis’ face.  It had not been easy for him to seek out Penhall for help but as he had not heard from Tom, the young officer was his only hope.  “I need you to find someone for me.”

**

Tom stared at the piece of paper in his hand before lifting the phone’s receiver and slamming it back down again.  He had spent twenty minutes repeating the same action and his nerves were jangling.  More than anything, he wanted to contact Dennis but he feared that by doing so, he would once again make matters worse.

As he was about to try for the tenth time, the phone came to life, its earsplitting ring making him jump.  Snatching the receiver from the cradle, he spoke in a breathless voice.  “Hanson.”

A small sigh of disappointment escaped his lips when he heard Penhall’s voice.  “Oh, hey Doug.”

“Hey yourself,” Penhall replied cheerfully.  “You may not be pleased to hear from me but you will be when I tell you what I know.”

Tom was in no mood for games and he let out another sigh, this one louder and more exasperated than before.  “What?”

Not about to let Tom’s ill temper get him down, Penhall remained upbeat.  “You told me last night you’ve been stressing out about getting in touch with Booker since your fight.  Well, I have the perfect excuse for you to contact him.”

Tom tightened his grip on the phone.  “Go on.”

Penhall smiled.  He knew he had piqued Tom’s interest and rather than toying with him, he decided to put him out of his misery.  “Booker contacted me.  He wants to find out where Maurice Keppler’s buried.”

Several seconds passed before Tom spoke.  “Tell me what he said.”

**

A loud rap at his door pulled Booker from a light doze.  “What?” he barked.

“Phone call,” the unidentified male voice replied.

Sitting up, Booker ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair and glancing at the clock, he saw it was late afternoon.  Most nights he remained awake, preferring to keep a vigil in case any of the men decided to break into his room under the cover of darkness.  He had taken to napping during the day or whenever he felt it was safe and although it was not the ideal situation, since changing his routine, he had not suffered any more attacks.   It was a small victory and even though he was tired, he was slowly learning to relax in his new surroundings.

Climbing from the bed, he unlocked the door and wandered down the corridor to the recreation room.  Several pairs of eyes followed him but he ignored the scrutiny and stopping beside the communal phone, he picked up the receiver.  “Booker.”

“Hey Dennis,” Tom replied quietly.  “I heard you needed some help and… well… I made some phone calls and I’ve got the information if you want it.”

Booker closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.  “Did Penhall tell you?” he asked.

“Yeah he did,” Tom replied candidly, “and to be honest, I’m a little hurt you didn’t ask for my help first.”

Opening his eyes, Booker let out a heavy sigh.  “I was going to but… Jesus Tom, you know what happened the last time I saw you and I was hardly going to ask for your help after we’d beaten each other to a bloody pulp.”

A long silence hung in the air before Tom answered.  “Yeah I know, but I’m offering my help now.  Can you meet me in an hour at the café on Main?”

“I’ll be there,” Booker replied in a soft voice and he hung up the phone.

**

Ninety minutes later, Booker sat in the alfresco area of Café Verde, anxiously chewing at the skin around his thumbnail.  His eyes scanned the busy street and when he finally spotted Tom hurrying towards him, he relaxed back in his chair and let out a relieved sigh.  Although he had not wanted to admit it to himself, he had been worried that Tom had reconsidered his offer and would not turn up.  But when he saw the harried expression on his ex-lover’s face, he knew it was unforeseen circumstances and not a change of heart that had caused his delay.

“Sorry,” Tom apologized in a breathless voice and pulling out a chair, he winced slightly as he sat down.  “They had half the street closed for road works.”

Booker noticed the grimace and he gave Tom a look of concern.  “Are you okay?”

Tom’s lips twitched into a smile.  “You gave me quite a thrashing, I think I’m entitled to nurse my wounds for a few days.”

“But you’re okay?” Booker pushed, the distress in his voice evident.  “Because I didn’t mean—”

“If I remember correctly, I hit you first,” Tom interrupted, “so let’s just forget about it.  Now, how ‘bout a drink.”

Booker managed a smile.  “Another beer would be great.  I ordered you one but I drank it.”

At Booker’s candid admission, Tom burst out laughing.  “Well then I guess it’s my shout.”  Signaling to the waiter, he ordered another two beers before addressing the issue at hand.  “I guess you're anxious to know what I found out.”

Booker’s eyes darkened but his expression remained calm.  “Yeah, I am.”

Tom waited until the waiter had placed their beers on the table before speaking again.  “Before I tell you, can I ask why you feel the need to dig up the past?”

Even though Booker knew Tom well enough to know that he would be curious about his motives, he could not dispel the feeling of annoyance and he scowled defiantly.  “Why?  Are you going to hold the information to ransom until I tell you?”

Tom’s happy demeanor disappeared and his expression became sad.  “Do you _really_ think I’d do that?”

Seeing the hurt in Tom’s eyes, Booker immediately felt like an asshole.  “No, of course not,” he sighed.  “I guess I’m just a little sensitive.”

“I understand,” Tom replied graciously and picking up his beer, he swallowed down a large gulp.  “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Reaching out, Booker placed a hand over Tom’s and gazed deep into his eyes.  “I _want_ to.  You’ve been by my side throughout this whole nightmare and if anyone has a right to know my intentions, you do.”

A lump formed in Tom’s throat and his eyes softened.  “I appreciate that,” he murmured.

Several minutes passed in a semi-comfortable silence until Booker eventually pulled his hand away and crossing his arms protectively across his chest, he muttered, “I need to say goodbye to him.  To Keppler.”

Although shocked by the admission, Tom managed to keep his expression impassive.  “Why?”

Leaning back in his chair, Booker exhaled heavily.  “Because there was a time when I loved him.”  Before Tom could speak, he held up his hand.  “I know now it wasn’t _real_ love, our whole relationship was based on lies and manipulation but there’s still a part of me… a _small_ part of me that also remembers his moments of kindness.  I don’t expect you to understand, you didn’t live through it, but if I’m to move forward with my life, I need to make peace with what he did to me.”  Taking a deep breath, he stared into Tom’s eyes, willing him to recognize what was in his heart.  “I need to tell him I forgive him.”

Having listened to Booker’s emotional declaration, Tom’s eyes misted over and grasping hold of his friend’s hand, he gave it a squeeze.  “Oh baby,” he whispered.

Tom had never used the affectionate term before and Booker’s face flushed red.  Unaware that he was the cause of his friend’s embarrassment, Tom assumed it was because of his frank admission.  “It’s okay, I’m not judging you.  If you need to do it, then let’s do it.”

“Us?” Booker asked in surprise.  "Does that mean we can put all this bullshit behind us and—”

Tom held up his hand.  "I don't want you to get the wrong idea Dennis, we do this as friends, nothing more, okay?"

A sad smile played over Booker's lips.  “Okay."

Glad that their friendship was restored, Tom divulged the information he had obtained.  "Keppler’s buried in Tucson.  It’s a week before Christmas, we'll never get a seat on a coach or a plane, so I thought we could drive out there together.”

Booker’s dark eyes filled with tears.  "You always come through for me, even when I’m at my worst," he murmured.  “How can I ever thank you?”

Tom stared deep into Booker’s eyes.  “I don’t want you to thank me, I just want you to get your life back.”

Too choked with emotion to speak, Booker just nodded his head.  For the first time in almost a year, he actually felt there was light at the end of the very long tunnel he had been living in, and with Tom once again by his side, he knew there was hope for the future.

 


	32. Road Trippin'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Previously: Several minutes passed in a semi-comfortable silence until Booker eventually pulled his hand away and crossing his arms protectively across his chest, he muttered, “I need to say goodbye to him. To Keppler.”_
> 
> _Although shocked by the admission, Tom managed to keep his expression impassive. “Why?”_
> 
> _Leaning back in his chair, Booker exhaled heavily. “Because there was a time when I loved him.” Before Tom could speak, he held up his hand. “I know now it wasn’t real love, our whole relationship was based on lies and manipulation but there’s still a part of me… a small part of me that also remembers his moments of kindness. I don’t expect you to understand, you didn’t live through it, but if I’m to move forward with my life, I need to make peace with what he did to me.” Taking a deep breath, he stared into Tom’s eyes, willing him to recognize what was in his heart. “I need to tell him I forgive him.”_
> 
> _Having listened to Booker’s emotional declaration, Tom’s eyes misted over and grasping hold of his friend’s hand, he gave it a squeeze. “Oh baby,” he whispered._
> 
> _Tom had never used the affectionate term before and Booker’s face flushed red. Unaware that he was the cause of his friend’s embarrassment, Tom assumed it was because of his frank admission. “It’s okay, I’m not judging you. If you need to do it, then let’s do it.”_
> 
> _“Us?” Booker asked in surprise. "Does that mean we can put all this bullshit behind us and—”_
> 
> _Tom held up his hand. "I don't want you to get the wrong idea Dennis, we do this as friends, nothing more, okay?"_
> 
> _A sad smile played over Booker's lips. “Okay."_
> 
> _Glad that their friendship was restored, Tom divulged the information he had obtained. "Keppler’s buried in Tucson. It’s a week before Christmas, we'll never get a seat on a coach or a plane, so I thought we could drive out there together.”_
> 
> _Booker’s dark eyes filled with tears. "You always come through for me, even when I’m at my worst," he murmured. “How can I ever thank you?”_
> 
> _Tom stared deep into Booker’s eyes. “I don’t want you to thank me, I just want you to get your life back.”_
> 
> _Too choked with emotion to speak, Booker just nodded his head. For the first time in almost a year, he actually felt there was light at the end of the very long tunnel he had been living in, and with Tom once again by his side, he knew there was hope for the future._

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35590682150/in/album-72157683140201352/)

**Road Trippin'**

_Two days later_

The two friends had been traveling for just over six hours, but after spending the first five hours making small talk, Booker had felt the need to be alone with his thoughts and taking out his battered portable cassette player, he lost himself in Nirvana’s _Bleach_.  It had been a good form of therapy, the music had helped him to forget what it was he was actually doing, because whenever he _did_ think about it, he started to have doubts.  Although he had received Doctor Mayberry’s blessing, in his mind he knew visiting Keppler’s grave was a bizarre thing to want to do.  However, he also knew that if he did not do it, he would never have closure and without closure, he could not move on with his life.

The music in his ears suddenly went dead and opening up the glove compartment, he pulled out a new AA battery and fitted it into the Walkman.  When nothing happened, he shook the cassette player for several moments before pulling the headphones from his ears and throwing the device into the footwell of the car.  “It’s busted,” he stated with a frustrated sigh.

Tom flicked the indicator and veering right, he exited on 185.  Turning his head, he gave Booker a slow smile.  “I think we’ve done enough driving for one day, how ‘bout we get something to eat and spend the night at Casa Grande.”

Booker glanced at his watch.  Although desperate to get to their destination, the day was drawing to a close and it was still another hour to Tucson, which meant they would not get to the cemetery until nightfall.  “Sure,” he replied.  “I think we could both use a rest.”

They traveled the nine miles in silence and spotting a motel, Tom pulled into the parking lot and switched off the ignition.  Unbuckling his seat belt, he addressed Booker through a loud yawn.  “I’ll get us a couple of rooms.”

Grinning at Tom’s barely legible statement, Booker watched as his friend climbed out of the car.  “You’d better hurry up,” he instructed with a laugh.  “You look like you’re about to fall asleep.”

Tom slammed the door closed and stretching out his aching back, he winced as pain flared through his damaged ribs.  Booker had given him quite a beating and he had the bruises to prove it.  But with typical Hanson fortitude, he ignored the burning sensation and keeping his expression neutral, he walked towards the motel’s office.

Several minutes later, he returned to find Booker leaning against the car smoking a cigarette, their overnight bags at his feet.  “I thought you gave those up,” he commented.

Dropping the butt to the ground, Booker exhaled the last remnants of smoke from his lungs.  “I did,” he replied somewhat tersely.  “Why?  Does it bother you?”

Even though it did, Tom shook his head.  He understood that Booker was feeling anxious and if smoking helped him feel calmer, he would not judge.  “They only had one room left,” he stated in a weary voice.  “But it has two beds so—”

“Fine,” Booker sighed and grinding out the smoldering cigarette with the toe of his boot, he reached into his pocket and pulled out several crumpled bills.  “How much do I owe for my share? “

Tom’s eyebrows raised in surprise.  “I don’t expect you to pay Dennis,” he replied softly.  “I know things are tight—”

“How much?” Booker asked in a strained voice.

Sensing that they were about to get into an argument, Tom relented and held out his hand.  “Twenty.”

Booker thumbed through his small wad of cash and peeling off two ten dollar bills, he handed them silently to Tom. 

Taking the money, Tom shoved it in his pocket but when he started to speak, he received a warning look from Booker.  Closing his mouth again, he picked up his bag and walked towards their room.  His friend’s disposition had soured in only a few short minutes but he was not about to make comment.  He knew well enough that both anxiety and tiredness were a recipe for a bad mood and therefore, he was better off leaving Booker alone. 

Unlocking the door, he threw his bag onto the closest bed and turned to face his friend.  “I’m going to take a shower and then we can get something to eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” Booker replied quietly and tossing his bag to the floor, he lay down on the other bed and closed his eyes.

Tom let out a sigh.  He was fairly certain Booker did not have the funds to buy a meal because he had already paid for half the gas and accommodation.  But he did not want the issue of money to come between them and ruin their already fragile relationship.  Although he had vowed to leave Booker to wallow in his bad mood, he decided to throw caution to the wind and perching on the edge of the bed, he laid a hand on his friend’s thigh.  “I don’t want you to worry about money,” he murmured.  “Friends help friends out and that’s the way it should be.”

Opening his eyes, Booker gazed up at Tom.  “But it shouldn’t always be one sided,” he muttered despondently.  “I don’t want to always be the one who needs help.”

Tom gave a reassuring smile.  “And you won’t be.  Don’t worry, the day will come when I’ll be knocking on _your_ door asking _you_ for help.”

Booker tried to smile but his lower lip began to wobble and throwing an arm over his face, he choked back a sob.  “I fucking _hate_ this!”

Being careful to treat Booker like a friend and not a lover, Tom resisted lying on the bed and pulling him into his arms.  Instead, he gently squeezed his thigh.  “I know you do,” he replied softly.  But it will get better, trust me.”

Lowering his arm, Booker stared up at Tom with sad eyes.  “When?”

Tom smiled.  “I think after this trip, things will be different,” he replied knowingly.  “Now, I’m going to take a shower and then we can eat.  Okay?”

Too tired to argue, Booker sighed.  “Okay,” he conceded and picking up the remote, he flicked on the TV.  But as Tom pulled off his t-shirt, he gasped in shock when he saw the large mass of bluish-purple contusions that adorned the left side of his friend’s torso.  “Shit Tommy,” he muttered, well aware that he was the cause of the injuries.  

Tired and sore, Tom was in no mood to relive the humiliation of coming off second best in a fight and glancing down at his battered body, he shrugged.  “I’ll live,” he mumbled.  

Climbing from the bed, Booker stepped forward and laid a gentle hand on Tom’s bruised skin.  “Does it hurt?”

The sensation of Booker’s fingertips lightly touching his naked flesh was almost too much for Tom and he drew in his breath.  But he knew he needed to suppress his feelings and stifling a moan, he managed a small smile.  “Like a bitch,” he joked, hoping against hope that he was successfully disguising his yearning to press his lips against Booker's and kiss him passionately.  

Booker lowered his hand and bowed his head.  “I’m sorry,” he apologized softly.  “I never meant to hurt you.”

Tom shrugged his shoulders.  “I deserved it.”

When Booker did not reply, Tom pulled his t-shirt back over his head.  “I think I’ll skip the shower, I’m pretty tired.  Maybe we should just order a pizza and call it a night.”

Booker nodded.  It was a depressing ending to a tiring day, but he knew the sorrow inside his heart was only a fraction of the pain he would feel the following morning when he finally stood looking down at the grave of the man he had called _Daddy_.

**

_The following morning_

The two men drove the seventy miles to Tucson in good time.  After stopping and asking for directions, they drove the remaining few miles to their destination and as they approached the palm tree lined entrance of Holy Cross Cemetery, Booker felt a shiver of foreboding.  Tom parked the car and both men exited in silence.  As they walked up the gravel path, Booker gazed at the Santa Catalina Mountains that rose majestically in the distance rather than at the looming stone monument depicting Christ on the cross.  They eventually stopped in front of the statue and Tom read the inscription in a barely audible voice.

**"I am the way, the truth and the life, the one who believes in me shall live."**

Booker’s face visibly paled.  “You’re fucking kidding me,” he exclaimed softly.  “He was Catholic?”

“Yeah,” Tom replied quietly.  “Apparently his family is quite devout.”

That a supposed Catholic could have perpetrated such vile acts against another human being would have been laughable if it had not been so disturbing.  Not wanting to prolong the agony any longer, Tom pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and read the information he had obtained.  “C’mon,” he muttered, “his grave should be just over there.”

The two men walked in silence along the rows of beautifully manicured plots.  After several minutes, Tom stopped and pointed at a headstone.  “It’s that one,” he murmured.

Without hesitation, Booker stepped forward and read the epitaph inscribed on the decorative bronze plaque.

**MAURICE JOSEPH KEPPLER**  
**3 Apr 1955 - 23 Dec 1988**  
**GOD NEEDED AN ANGEL SO HE CALLED OUR SON **  
**HIS LIGHT SHINES ON******

Keppler's family obviously did not acknowledge the sins of a man who earned his living raping underage boys, or if they did, they preferred to _turn the other cheek_ because it was too scandalous to accept.  Even though his transgressions against the divine law were plentiful; rape, homosexuality, drug use, just to name a few, if Keppler’s family really were as devout as his epitaph suggested, _The Rite of Committal_ would have been performed and a priest would have blessed his body before committing it to the earth.  It was obvious his family believed he was in God’s arms but the hypocrisy of it all was not lost on Booker and staring down at the grave, he began to giggle.  However, his laughter immediately turned to loud, heaving sobs and dropping to his knees, he covered his face in his hands and unashamedly gave into his grief.  

Squatting down, Tom pulled his friend into a tight embrace.  He grimaced when two muscular arms wrapped around him, squeezing his damaged ribs, but he did not pull away.  Booker’s mourning was the beginning of his healing and he wanted him to know that he was there for him, through thick and thin from now on.  He did not profess to understand his friend’s feelings for the man who had brutally raped, tortured and humiliated him but that did not mean he would not stand by him.  Booker had been right when he stated that no one could understand unless they had lived it.  Tom knew he was only an outsider looking in, but in time, he hoped his friend would open up more about his ordeal and maybe then, he could begin to grasp the complexity of his feelings.

Minutes passed and eventually Booker’s body stopped trembling, and lifting his tear stained face, he stared at Tom with grief-stricken eyes.  “I loved him so much,” he whispered, “but I hated him too.  How can that be?  Am I crazy?  ‘Cause sometimes I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

Although not feeling qualified to voice his opinions on the multifarious aspects of Booker’s psyche, Tom tenderly wiped the tears from his friend’s face and gave him the only explanation he had.  “You’re not losing your mind, you have no control over what your heart tells you.  There’s no right or wrong Dennis, there are just feelings.”

A little surprised by Tom’s insightfulness, Booker sniffed loudly and nodded his head.  “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he muttered, “but sometimes…” 

His voice trailed off and he did not finish his thoughts because the truth was, they were too complicated to put into words. 

Several minutes passed without either man speaking and just as Tom was about to suggest they leave, Booker laid a hand on Keppler’s headstone.  “I forgive you Maurice,” he murmured softly and getting to his feet, he looked down at Tom and gave him a weary smile.  “Let’s go, I’ve made my peace.”

Tom stood up and placing an arm around Booker’s shoulders, he gave him a squeeze and they walked silently back to the car.

 


	33. Amor Vincit Omnia (Love Conquers All)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Well this is it, the final curtain.**
> 
> **To everyone who took the time to comment or leave kudos, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.**
> 
> **As always, this story was difficult to write because of the graphic nature of the plot. There were many times along the way that I felt like abandoning it because I wondered if I'd pushed the limits too far. It was especially traumatic writing the Dennis/Tom rape scene because I love these two characters so much and I did not want Dennis perceived as a monster. I hope I handled it in a way that you, as the reader, understood the level of his mental breakdown and forgave him his sin.**
> 
> **Now that this story is finished, I would appreciate any feedback you wish to impart because your thoughts will help to make me a better writer.**
> 
> **I am going to take a break over the holiday season but rest assured, I already have a new Tom/Dennis story I am working on :) This story will be different to any other story I have written because it will feature a topic I have not dealt with before and swore I never would. However, I think it is time I explored this avenue of fanfiction and hopefully the plot will not disappoint.**
> 
> **I wish you a Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Blessed Yule etc. and hopefully I will see you all again in the New Year.**
> 
> **In peace**   
>  **OpenPage x**
> 
>  
> 
>    
>  _Previously: Keppler's family obviously did not acknowledge the sins of a man who earned his living raping underage boys, or if they did, they preferred to turn the other cheek because it was too scandalous to accept. Even though his transgressions against the divine law were plentiful; rape, homosexuality, drug use, just to name a few, if Keppler’s family really were as devout as his epitaph suggested, The Rite of Committal would have been performed and a priest would have blessed his body before committing it to the earth. It was obvious his family believed he was in God’s arms but the hypocrisy of it all was not lost on Booker and staring down at the grave, he began to giggle. However, his laughter immediately turned to loud, heaving sobs and dropping to his knees, he covered his face in his hands and unashamedly gave into his grief._
> 
> Squatting down, Tom pulled his friend into a tight embrace. He grimaced when two muscular arms wrapped around him, squeezing his damaged ribs, but he did not pull away. Booker’s mourning was the beginning of his healing and he wanted him to know that he was there for him, through thick and thin from now on. He did not profess to understand his friend’s feelings for the man who had brutally raped, tortured and humiliated him but that did not mean he would not stand by him. Booker had been right when he stated that no one could understand unless they had lived it. Tom knew he was only an outsider looking in, but in time, he hoped his friend would open up more about his ordeal and maybe then, he could begin to grasp the complexity of his feelings.
> 
> Minutes passed and eventually Booker’s body stopped trembling, and lifting his tear stained face, he stared at Tom with grief-stricken eyes. “I loved him so much,” he whispered, “but I hated him too. How can that be? Am I crazy? ‘Cause sometimes I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
> 
> Although not feeling qualified to voice his opinions on the multifarious aspects of Booker’s psyche, Tom tenderly wiped the tears from his friend’s face and gave him the only explanation he had. “You’re not losing your mind, you have no control over what your heart tells you. There’s no right or wrong Dennis, there are just feelings.”
> 
> A little surprised by Tom’s insightfulness, Booker sniffed loudly and nodded his head. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he muttered, “but sometimes…”
> 
> His voice trailed off and he did not finish his thoughts because the truth was, they were too complicated to put into words.
> 
> Several minutes passed without either man speaking and just as Tom was about to suggest they leave, Booker laid a hand on Keppler’s headstone. “I forgive you Maurice,” he murmured softly and getting to his feet, he looked down at Tom and gave him a weary smile. “Let’s go, I’ve made my peace.”
> 
> Tom stood up and placing an arm around Booker’s shoulders, he gave him a squeeze and they walked silently back to the car.  
> 

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35590682060/in/album-72157683140201352/)

**Amor Vincit Omnia (Love Conquers All)**  

With no reason to stay in Tucson now that Booker had achieved what he had set out to do, the two men drove back to South Central Los Angeles the same day.  Pulling the car up to the curb outside the share house that Booker now called home, Tom switched off the ignition and gazed up at the dilapidated building.  Several unsavory looking men loitered outside and they stared with interest when they saw who was sitting in the Mustang, immediately giving Tom a bad feeling.  Turning to Booker, he placed a hand on his arm.  “You shouldn’t have to live like this.  Come back and live with me.”

Booker shook his head.  “You know I can’t do that,” he sighed.  “I need to start doing things by myself and… well… being around you all the time is kinda hard, you know?”

Tom _did_ know.  He had spent less than forty-eight hours with Dennis and during that time, he had found it increasingly difficult to control his desires.  Just looking at his dark haired friend made him horny and he longed to erase everything that had happened in the last few months and start again from the time when their relationship was still new.  Knowing what he did now, he would have done many things differently, but hindsight was always twenty-twenty and he knew there was no point having regrets.  What had happened between them had happened and he needed to accept it and move on.  But the thought of Booker living in such a dangerous environment concerned him and he knew he had to do something about it.  Glancing over at the men, he asked the question that had been bothering him for the last few days.  “Do they still try and come into your room at night?”

A hot flush of embarrassment heated Booker’s cheeks.  “They try, but I stay awake now so they can’t get in.”

“Jesus,” Tom muttered and turning his eyes away, he focused his attention back on Booker.  “Well if you won’t move in with me, let me try and find you somewhere better to live.”

With a sad smile, Booker opened the door.  “And how am I supposed to pay for it?” he murmured.  “I don’t want you taking care of me Tom, I can do this by myself.”

Not wanting to argue in front of an audience, Tom grabbed hold of Booker’s arm.  “What about Christmas?  At least come and spend the day with me.”

Booker raised a querying eyebrow.  “Aren’t you going to your mom’s?”

Tom shook his head.  “She’s gone on a cruise with her new boyfriend.  You’d be doing me a favor because my only other option is going to Doug and Dorothy’s and we both know _that_ will end in disaster.”

“They’re back together?” Booker asked in surprise.  “Geez, getting yelled at must _really_ turn him on.”

A large grin spread across Tom’s face.  “Actually, I think it does.”  He paused for a moment before moving his hand down and resting it on Booker’s thigh. “So you’ll come?”

At the gentleness of the touch, a jolt of electricity shot through Booker’s body and his cock twitched to life.  The more time he spent with Tom, the more he wanted him and he knew for both their sakes, he should refuse the invitation.  But the thought of spending Christmas with a group of men he despised was too depressing to contemplate, and so he went against his better judgment.  “I’d like that Tommy,” he replied softly.  “Thanks.”

Although it was difficult, Tom managed to contain the true extent of his happiness.  “Great,” he smiled.

With nothing left to say, the two men exited the car and grabbing Booker’s bag from the trunk, Tom handed it to him.  “I’ll pick you up Christmas morning at nine.”

Booker shook his head.  “I’ll catch the bus,” and walking away, he ignored the men’s low wolf whistles and disappeared into the house.

**

_Christmas Day_

A knock at the door signaled Booker’s arrival and taking a deep breath to steady his growing nerves, Tom opened the door.  The sight of his friend dressed in a dark blue button down shirt, black waistcoat, black jeans and boots was almost too much to bear, but he pulled himself together and smiling warmly, he stepped back from the door.  “Merry Christmas,” he welcomed.

Booker returned the smile.  “Merry Christmas,” he replied and entering the apartment, he handed Tom a small package.  “It’s not much but—”

Tom’s dark eyes softened as he accepted the gift.  “Jesus Dennis, you didn’t have to get me anything,” he murmured.

Tilting his head on one side, Booker gave his friend a steadfast look.  “Did you get _me_ something?” he asked pointedly.

It was then that Tom knew he needed to stop giving Booker special treatment.  It was Christmas and tradition dictated they exchange gifts.  But as he gazed down at the clumsily wrapped parcel in his hand, he suddenly had doubts about the present he had bought and he started to panic.  He did not want to make his friend feel inferior and he inwardly cursed himself for being so inconsiderate.  It was obvious that Booker did not have much money and he should have bought something small so as not to humiliate his friend.  But it was too late now and he hoped Booker would not feel embarrassed because of his stupidity.

He could feel Booker’s dark eyes boring into him and meeting his gaze, he nodded his head.  "Yeah I did.”

Walking over to the couch, Booker sat down.  “So put the damn present under the tree and shut the hell up,” he instructed with a chuckle.

Tom closed the door and walking across the room, he placed the small package next to Booker’s present.  “You’re right, sorry —“

Booker let out an exasperated sigh.  “And don’t keep apologizing.  Jesus Hanson, when are you going to start treating me like your equal instead of a welfare case?”

A deep flush colored Tom’s face and he lowered his eyes to the floor.  “I didn’t mean to,” he mumbled awkwardly.  

Seeing Tom’s embarrassment, Booker immediately regretted his outburst and standing up, he went over to his friend and placed both hands on his shoulders.  “Now _I’m_ sorry.  I shouldn’t have overreacted.  I love that you look out for me, even if I don’t always need it.”

Lifting his head, Tom smiled gratefully.  “Can we start over?”

Booker grinned back.  “Sure, why not.  Hey Tommy, Merry Christmas.”

Relieved that the uncomfortable moment was behind them, Tom chuckled happily.  “Merry Christmas.  Now, how ‘bout a drink.”

“Beer’s good, or wine if you’ve got it,” Booker replied as he gazed around the decorated apartment.  “Geez, you went all out.  I never would have picked you as someone who enjoyed Christmas.  Do you always decorate your apartment like this?”

Tom’s mood shifted as memories of his previous Christmas came to mind.  He had spent hours at the hospital, waiting for news on Booker’s condition and when he had finally seen him, it was his presence that had caused his friend unspeakable distress.  He blinked back tears and turned away as the long forgotten screams echoed in his mind; _“I KILLED TOM!  I RAPED HIM AND KILLED HIM!  HE’S DEAD!  HE’S DEAD!”_

A gentle hand rested on his shoulder and looking up, he gave a watery smile.  “Sorry, last Christmas was… well, you know.  So to answer your question, no, I’m not normally that enthusiastic about the festive season but this year is different… it’s special.”

Touched by Tom’s admission, Booker squeezed his shoulder.  “Yeah, it is.  But let’s not dwell on the past, let’s celebrate the future instead.”

Tom wiped at his eyes and smiled.  “I’ll get the drinks and then we can have a toast.”

Booker nodded and as Tom opened a bottle of Merlot and poured two glasses, he watched on silently.  When a glass was in his hand, he raised it and gazed deep into Tom’s eyes.  “To us, may our friendship last forever.”

“Forever,” Tom murmured and clinking his glass against Booker’s, he took a sip of the light, fruity wine.  The heavy emotion in the room was palpable as the two men continued to stare deep into each other’s eyes and Tom felt a moment of shear panic as his stomach flip-flopped and his cock twitched to life.  Fear gripped his heart and lowering his gaze, he ran a trembling hand over his mouth.  Desperate to ease the sexual tension in the room, he spied the two presents under the tree and reaching down, he picked up his gift for Booker.  “Um, I was going to give you this after we ate but now seems as good a time as any.”

Gazing down at the beautifully wrapped parcel, Booker felt a lump forming in his throat.  It had been a long time since someone had bought him a gift and he felt overcome with emotion.  Taking the present, he pulled himself together and smiled.  “Thanks.”

Tom watched on nervously as Booker ripped the festive paper from the box, revealing a brand new Sony Walkman WM-DD9.  

Booker stared down at the gift in his hand, unable to believe that his friend had bought him such an expensive gift.  “Tom,” he whispered, “this is too much.  You shouldn’t have spent so much money on me.”

Smiling tenderly, Tom laid a hand on his arm.  “I bought it because I wanted you to have it,” he stated simply.  “I know how much you love your music.”

Not knowing what to say, Booker just nodded.  Tom’s generosity had touched him immensely and it was obvious he had put some thought into what would make the perfect gift.  Feeling a little embarrassed by his meager offering, he bent down and picking up the small package, he handed it to Tom.  “Merry Christmas.”

Tom accepted the present, not really knowing what to expect.  He ripped off the brown paper and stared in awe at the beautiful silver pocket watch in his hand.

“It was my great grandfather’s,” Booker explained quietly.  “He carried it with him during the First World War so it’s a little battered but—”

“Dennis it’s beautiful,” Tom murmured and rubbing his thumb over the engraved casing, he continued to stare down at the ornate piece.  He was completely mesmerized by its exquisite artisanship, but eventually he came to his senses and looking back up at Booker, he held the timepiece out to him.  “But I can’t accept it.”

Booker immediately looked crushed but he refused to take the watch from Tom’s hand.  “Why not?” he asked in a disappointed voice.  “I thought you liked it.”

“Dennis I _do_ like it… in fact I _love_ it,” Tom explained hurriedly.  “But it was your grandfather’s and you should hold onto it so you can pass it down to your son.”

A blush stained Booker’s cheeks and he lowered his gaze.  “I might not have any children,” he mumbled awkwardly.  “Not now.  Things have changed Tommy.  I don’t want to have a relationship with a woman, I only want to be with…”  

Catching himself in time before he said _“you”,_ he finished the sentence by muttering, “…men.”

Oblivious of Booker’s near slipup, Tom stared back down at the pocket watch.  He had two choices; he could give it back and hurt Booker’s feelings or accept it for what it was… a gift of friendship.

Lowering his hand, he lifted his head and smiled lovingly.  “I’ll treasure it forever.  Thank you.”

Overwhelmed that Tom had agreed to keep his gift, Booker pulled him into a tight embrace.  Tom immediately wrapped his arms around his friend’s waist and they held each other close, both men breathing in other’s familiar scent, the heady aroma awakening their buried desires.  The hug lasted longer than either had intended and when they eventually separated, their eyes locked and they gazed deep into each other’s souls, both desperately searching for an answer to the question that plagued their hearts and minds; were they destined to be together and if so, could they make it work?

Eventually it was Tom who broke the silence and reaching out, he cupped Booker’s face in the palm of his hand.  As he stroked the flawless skin with his thumb, he continued to gaze into the dark eyes of the man who brought out the very best in him as well as the very worst.  “I fell in love with you the first time I saw you,” he murmured softly, “and I keep fighting it because I’m terrified of hurting you.  But over the last few days, I’ve come to realize that to live, to _truly_ live, we must be willing to take risks… and I want to take a risk with you Dennis.  I love you and I can’t keep pretending I don’t.”

At Tom’s words, Booker’s heart rate quickened.  He could scarcely believe what he was hearing and his breathing became heavy as his mind went into overdrive.  The hands of fate were giving him a second chance at happiness and this time he would not screw it up.

"Show me how much you love me," he whispered.

Tom's eyes grew dark with arousal and all thoughts of Christmas dinner vanished from his mind.  Taking Booker by the hand, he led him into the bedroom.  Both men kicked off their boots and lying down on the bed, they gazed into each other’s eyes.  

“Do we take it slow?” Booker asked in a low, trembling voice, even though his body ached to feel Tom’s gentle touch and hot, inviting mouth trailing over his naked skin.

Tom leaned over and pressed his lips lovingly against Booker’s forehead.  “We could,” he murmured seductively as he rained soft kisses over his face, “if by slow you mean me making passionate love to you.”

Booker’s eyes fluttered closed as Tom's mouth teasingly brushed against his full pout.  “ _Yesss_ ,” he breathed, and parting his lips, he groaned as Tom’s tongue entwined with his own.  Both men reveled at the familiarity and pulling Tom on top of him, Booker pushed his hands under his shirt.  The feel of smooth skin beneath his fingertips was intoxicating and he deepened the kiss.

Needing more, Tom sat up and ripping his shirt from his body, he threw it to the floor and gazed down at Booker with gleaming eyes.  “I wanna see you naked.”

They slowly removed each other’s clothing, taking their time to lick and suck at each piece of bare skin they exposed.   When they were finally undressed, Tom positioned himself between Booker’s bent knees and his eyes roved hungrily over the muscular body lying beneath him.  His mind did not register the dozens of scars that were a permanent legacy of Booker’s abuse at the hands of dozens of men; all he saw was perfection. 

“God,” he whispered in awe.  “How could I have forgotten how beautiful you are?”

When Booker blushed, he laughed softly and leaning forward, he whispered enticingly against his ear, “Do you want me to touch you?”  

Booker gazed up at Tom and his dark eyes flashed with desire.  “Suck me,” he breathed.  “I wanna feel your lips around me.”

Tom groaned in excitement and gently taking hold of the base of Booker’s cock, he dropped to one arm and ducking his head, he reveled in his lover’s full-body tremor as he slowly trailed his tongue up the underside of the semi erect shaft.

“Again,” Booker moaned, his fingers gently pulling at Tom’s hair, urging him on.

Not needing any persuasion, Tom peppered soft kisses up and down the growing erection before wrapping his lips around the head and sucking deeply.

“Fuck yeah,” Booker encouraged softly.  

Tom grinned and taking Booker’s cock into his mouth, he applied a small amount of pressure with his lips and slowly moved up and down the full length, teasing him to life.

“Oh God Tommy,” Booker moaned, his hips rising from the mattress and his fingers entwining in Tom’s hair.  “That… feels… _so_ … good…”

Not wanting his lover to come, Tom lifted his head and smiled enticingly.  His own erect cock jutted outwards and he longed to bury himself inside Booker’s willing body.  Reaching out a hand, he lightly traced his fingertip over Booker’s hole, eliciting a gasp from his lover.  “Do you like me touching you there?” he asked softly.

Booker’s dark eyes gazed back and biting down on his lower lip, he nodded his head as his chest rose and fell with excitement.  “I wanna feel you inside me,” he moaned as he ran a finger up and down the faint line of Tom’s perineal raphe.  “I want to be yours.”

The exquisite sensation of his lover’s touch against his cock elicited a gasp of pleasure from Tom and leaning forward, he sucked seductively at Booker’s lower lip.  “You _are_ mine,” he whispered against his mouth while stroking his perineum with light fingers.  “You’ve always been mine.”

Placing a hand behind Tom’s neck, Booker pulled him closer and kissed him passionately.  When they eventually broke apart, he gazed up at Tom with trusting eyes.  “Then show me,” he breathed.

Tom’s eyes glistened with hot desire and grabbing a pillow, he placed it behind Booker so he was reclining against it.   Opening his bedside drawer, he searched inside until his fingers found what he was looking for.  Throwing a condom onto the bed, he searched again and pulling out a tube of lubrication, he unscrewed the cap and tossed it carelessly to the floor.  He squeezed out a large dollop and liberally coated his finger before rubbing the tip against Booker’s entrance, spreading the oil over the puckered hole.  Booker drew his legs towards his chest and relaxed them so they angled outward, giving Tom better access and his chest rose and fell rapidly at the thrill of Tom’s touch as he ran a finger in a circular motion around his perineum, rousing his senses.

After several minutes of teasing foreplay, Tom pressed the pad of his lubricated finger against Booker’s anus.  “Ready,” he asked, his excitement evident in his eyes.

Booker’s body quivered in anticipation.  “Yes,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving Tom’s beautiful face.  He knew what to do and taking a deep breath, he exhaled as Tom slowly pushed his finger inside.  Inch by inch Tom inserted his finger and once in place, he stilled his hand allowing time for the sphincter to relax.  When he was certain the muscle was loose, he rhythmically moved his finger partially in and out, stimulating the sensitive nerve endings inside Booker’s anus.  

“ _Ohhh_ ,” Booker moaned softly and his eyes fluttered closed before slowly opening again and meeting Tom’s gaze.  “Ohhh God.”

“Do you like that baby?” Tom asked softly.  “Is it making you hard?”

Booker’s breathing became heavy.  “Yes,” he gasped, his erection growing from the stimulation.  “Oh _yesss_.”

Tom smiled and crooking his finger, he sought out Booker’s prostate and pressed the tip against the gland.  Booker’s body shuddered and his fingers grasped frantically at the sheet beneath him as an exquisite pleasure shot through his body.  “Fuck! Oh fuck oh fuck oh _fuck!_ ”

Afraid that Booker would achieve an orgasm before he had a chance to make love to him, Tom immediately stilled his hand.  “Put the condom on me,” he instructed in a breathless voice.

Booker ripped open the package with trembling fingers, expertly rolled the condom onto Tom’s burgeoning erection and slicked his sheathed cock with copious amounts of lubrication.  Once ready, Tom carefully removed his finger and holding onto the base of his cock, he pressed the tip against Booker’s opening.  As their eyes locked, he leaned forward and tenderly kissed his lover.  “I _love_ you,” he murmured against the full pout.

Tears welled in Booker’s dark eyes.  It had been rare for him to feel the gentleness of another man’s love and he knew what he was about to experience would be unlike anything he had ever felt before.  When Tom lifted his head, he reached out and trailed a loving finger down his cheek.  “Show me,” he whispered as he wrapped his legs around Tom's waist.

A moan of pleasure escaped Tom’s lips and repositioning himself, he slowly entered Booker’s body.  He paused for a moment, enjoying the sensation of tightness surrounding him and when he could no longer contain himself, he slowly rocked his hips forwards and backwards, penetrating deeper inside the narrow channel with every thrust.  Booker’s fingernails bit into the flesh of his upper arm and for a fraction of a second, he understood the intensity of coupling pleasure with pain.  But he quickly pushed the thought aside and concentrated on making love to the man he wanted to spend the rest of his life getting to know.

Booker's eyes closed and his head arched backwards.  "Harder," he instructed in a breathless voice.  

Shifting his position slightly, Tom increased his pace and Booker's nails dug deeper into the flesh of his arm.  

“There!” Dennis gasped, as his nerves exploded with pleasure.  “Oh God Tommy _there!_ ”

“Talk to me baby," Tommy whispered as he pushed his cock deep into Booker's anus, stimulating his prostate with every thrust.  "Do you like the feel of my cock inside you?"

“Yes… yes… yes…” Booker panted heavily, his face a mask of pure ecstasy.  “It feels so… oh fuck... it feels so... it feels...”

The sensation of Booker's body writhing beneath him fueled Tom's arousal and he thrust deeper.  “Look at me,” he panted.  “I wanna see those beautiful brown eyes.”

Precum started to leak from Booker's cock and he knew he would not last much longer.  Opening his eyes, he gazed up at his lover.  "Oh Tommy, it feels... it feels...”

"Tell me," Tom moaned as his cock moved in and out.  "Tell me how it feels."

Wrapping his fingers around the railing of the headboard Booker forced his body upward to meet every countering thrust.  "It feels... it feels... oh God... oh God... I can’t... I can’t... _TOMMEEE!_ "

Semen exploded from within him, covering his stomach in the warm, salty fluid.  At the erotic sight, Tom lost control and he pounded his cock into the willing body beneath him.  Moments later, he threw back his head and with a yell, he forcefully ejaculated into the protective condom and collapsing on top of Booker, he sought out his mouth and kissed him passionately as he continued to shudder out his release.

Time stood still and after what could have been hours but was in reality, only a few minutes, Tom slowed the kiss before gently pulling away.  As he gazed into Booker’s sated eyes, his heart swelled with love.  Never in his life had he felt so close to another human being and it was then that any residual doubts he had about the their relationship completely disappeared.

He had found his soul mate and no matter what hurdles the future had in store for them; including Mike Ferris’ trial, he knew they would face them side by side... together, forever.

_Finis_  



End file.
